Chapter 8 - The Forty-Fourth Model
Samuel Hale walked into the Moretti estate at 3:12 in the morning.
Serena did not recognize him at first.
The man from the recording had seemed old.
The man standing before her seemed ancient.
Not in years.
In exhaustion.
“Serena.”
She stared.
“You’re alive.”
“Yes.”
She slapped him.
Nobody moved.
Samuel touched his cheek.
“I deserved that.”
“You let me mourn you.”
“I know.”
“You let me believe Mom lost her brother.”
“I know.”
“You let my father lie to me.”
Dominic started to speak.
Serena raised one hand.
“No.”
Samuel nodded.
“Be angry.”
“I am beyond angry.”
“Good.”
Serena almost laughed.
The absurdity of it hurt.
“Where are Marcus and Camille?”
“Safe.”
“You were at the office?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“To get the token.”
He placed both halves on the table.
They fit together.
Samuel opened a laptop.
Model 44 appeared.
Serena immediately understood why it had been hidden.
It did not predict markets.
It mapped relationships.
Money.
Timing.
Ownership.
Shell corporations.
People.
Every transaction became part of a network.
Samuel entered the completed key.
The screen filled with names.
Grant moved closer.
His company appeared at the center.
Not as controller.
As conduit.
Moretti subsidiaries surrounded it.
Camille’s firm.
Several banks.
Two charities.
A logistics company.
Then one holding corporation appeared above all of them.
CROWN MERIDIAN LLC.
Serena asked, “Who owns it?”
Samuel clicked.
“Layered ownership.”
“Keep going.”
Another shell.
Another trust.
Another corporation.
Finally, a name appeared.
Dominic Moretti.
Nobody spoke.
Dominic stared.
“That isn’t mine.”
Samuel looked at him.
“I know.”
Grant frowned.
“Then someone stole his identity.”
“Twenty-two years ago,” Samuel said.
Serena looked between them.
“The year Mom died.”
“Yes.”
Dominic sat down.
Samuel continued.
“Your mother discovered it first.”
Serena’s throat tightened.
“She discovered someone was using Dominic’s authority to move money.”
“Who?”
“We thought it was a rival family.”
“And?”
“We were wrong.”
Samuel opened an old photograph.
Dominic.
Serena’s mother, Isabella.
Samuel.
And a fourth person.
A younger woman.
Serena recognized her.
Margaret Sloan.
Chair of Holloway Financial’s board.
Grant whispered, “No.”
Samuel looked at him.
“You know her.”
“She invested in my company before anyone else.”
“Exactly.”
Grant backed away.
Margaret had discovered him at twenty-seven.
She introduced him to investors.
She praised his instinct.
She encouraged him to commercialize Serena’s ideas.
Grant remembered something.
At a dinner seven years earlier, Margaret had asked about Serena’s notebooks.
He had thought nothing of it.
“How did she know Serena?”
Samuel answered.
“Isabella and Margaret were partners.”
“In business?”
“And friends.”
Dominic’s expression darkened.
“Until Isabella discovered Margaret was diverting money.”
Serena stared.
“Did Margaret kill my mother?”
“We never proved that.”
Samuel’s answer was immediate.
“And we will not claim it without proof.”
“Then why hide?”
“Because every witness who helped us disappeared or recanted.”
Nathan nodded.
“I was the last.”
Grant’s phone rang.
Margaret Sloan.
Everyone looked at it.
“Answer,” Serena said.
Grant did.
“Margaret.”
Her voice sounded perfectly calm.
“Grant, where are you?”
“Home.”
Serena watched him.
He understood.
“Alone?”
“Yes.”
“Good. We need to discuss Serena.”
Grant’s jaw tightened.
“What about her?”
“You’ve been manipulated.”
“By whom?”
“The Morettis.”
Grant looked at Dominic.
Margaret continued.
“Serena married you for access.”
“To what?”
“Your company.”
Grant almost laughed.
“My company was worth twelve thousand dollars when I met her.”
Silence.
That was the mistake.
Margaret had forgotten.
Or assumed Grant had.
Grant continued.
“She gave me the ideas that made it valuable.”
Margaret’s voice cooled.
“Where are you?”
Grant did not answer.
The call ended.
Samuel closed the laptop.
“She knows.”
Dominic ordered security doubled.
But Serena was staring at Model 44.
Something was wrong.
The timestamps.
The network continued updating.
Real time.
Someone had accessed Crown Meridian less than a minute ago.
Serena clicked the transaction.
A transfer.
Four hundred million dollars.
Destination hidden.
Grant leaned closer.
“Can you trace it?”
Serena typed.
Her hands moved quickly.
The system opened.
Another layer.
Then a physical address appeared.
Grant recognized it.
“No.”
“What?”
“That’s Holloway Financial.”
Specifically, Grant’s executive floor.
The transaction required biometric approval.
His biometric approval.
“But I’m here.”
Serena looked at him.
“Then someone copied your credentials.”
Grant’s phone buzzed.
A live security alert appeared.
His office door had opened.
The camera activated.
A woman entered.
Margaret Sloan.
She crossed to Grant’s desk and pressed her hand against a concealed biometric scanner.
A second person followed.
Serena leaned toward the screen.
The man’s face appeared.
Dominic staggered backward.
Samuel whispered, “Impossible.”
Serena looked at her father.
“Who is he?”
Dominic could barely answer.
May you like
“My brother.”
The man who had been declared dead thirty-one years earlier smiled directly into the security camera...
