Chapter 4 - The Vultures GatherBy Tuesday afternoon, the VIP suite had transformed into a staging ground for corporate vultures. Anthony Moretti, Dominic’s smarming, debt-ridden cousin, paced the length of the Persian rug, his tailored Italian suit rustling with every step. Beside him sat Marcus Vance, pushing wire-rimmed glasses up the bridge of his nose as he flipped through a thick leather-bound portfolio of legal documents.
“Let’s be realistic, Marcus,” Anthony said, waving a manicured hand toward the bed where Dominic lay motionless. “The specialist’s report this morning wasn't promising. Brain activity is flatlining. If we don't petition the probate court for emergency conservatorship of Moretti Holdings by Thursday afternoon, the board will freeze all asset distribution.”
Marcus didn't look up from his papers. His expression was a mask of cold, bureaucratic indifference. “The courts require a seventy-two-hour waiting period for emergency declarations, Anthony. However, with Veronica’s upcoming marriage status—which legally grants her next-of-kin medical proxy—we can expedite the signature transfer.”
Veronica sat in the armchair by the window, sipping herbal tea from a china cup. She wore a black silk dress that hugged her frame, her blonde hair swept up into an elegant chignon. She didn't look like a grieving bride; she looked like a CEO reviewing a successful merger.
“Let them try to freeze the assets,” Veronica said smoothly, her voice cutting through the room like a silver blade. “The Cayman accounts are already partitioned under my maiden name through shell corporations Marcus set up last month. Once Dominic’s signature is authenticated—or legally bypassed via proxy—the holding companies dissolve into our personal portfolios.”
Behind the oxygen mask, Dominic listened to every syllable. Every name, every offshore account number, every fraudulent legal maneuver was cataloged in his mind like data points on a tactical grid. They were dividing his empire while his body was still warm.
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Anthony walked over to the bed, looking down at Dominic with a sneer of pure contempt. He leaned down, pretending to adjust Dominic’s blanket, and whispered, “You always thought you were untouchable, didn't you, cousin? Always lecturing about family loyalty while you kept every penny locked in your iron vault. Well, the vault is open now.”
Dominic didn't twitch a muscle. He kept his breathing slow, steady, and artificial, matching the mechanical rhythm of the ventilator. But inside, his blood turned to ice. Enjoy your victory, Anthony, he thought. Because Friday is coming.
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