Chapter 2 - THE VOICE IN THE STATIC
The ballroom air turned to freezing glass.
Marcus Reed held the envelope steady.
His fingers were dusted with soot.
Dante Moretti did not reach for the paper immediately.
His dark eyes remained fixed on Vanessa Whitmore.
Her crimson gown seemed too loud for the room now.
Her breath caught in her throat.
"What is that, Dante?" Vanessa asked.
Her voice had lost its sharpness.
"You told me you didn't know her name," Dante said softly.
His tone was calm.
It was the calm that preceded an execution.
"I don't," Vanessa lied.
Her left hand moved toward her pearls.
Her knuckles were white.
Dante took the envelope from Marcus.
He broke the black wax seal with his thumb.
He pulled out two sheets of bank transfer receipts.
"Fifty thousand dollars," Dante read aloud.
Every whisper in the grand ballroom died.
"Transferred from Whitmore Holdings to Saint Jude’s Memorial Hospital."
He looked up from the paper.
His gaze found Elena Morales.
Elena pressed her palms flat against her apron.
Her heart battered her ribs like an iron bar.
"My mother’s account," Elena whispered.
Her voice barely carried across the marble.
Dante turned the page toward Vanessa.
"Signed by your private secretary, Vanessa."
"Attached to a memo ordering the immediate cancellation of Clara Morales’s dialysis treatments."
A collective gasp rippled through the guests.
Richard Whitmore rose from his chair near the orchestra.
His champagne glass clicked against the polished wood.
"Dante, this is a family matter," Richard said smoothly.
"Sit down, Richard," Dante answered without looking at him.
Richard’s mouth snapped shut.
Vanessa took a step backward.
Her heel caught the hem of her crimson gown.
"She was snooping in my suite," Vanessa hissed.
Her eyes darted frantically across the crowd.
"She's a thief, Dante!"
"Check her apron!"
Marcus didn't move.
Dante took two slow steps toward Elena.
His shadow swallowed her completely.
He reached down.
His fingers didn't search her pockets.
He gently touched the frayed lace of her uniform cuff.
"Did you take anything from her room, Elena?"
Elena looked directly into his gray eyes.
She did not blink.
She did not look away.
"I have never set foot on the third floor, Mr. Moretti."
"I believe you," Dante said.
Vanessa let out a strangled shriek of fury.
"You believe a servant over your future wife?"
"You are not my wife," Dante said.
He slipped his signet ring off his finger.
He dropped it onto the floor at Vanessa’s feet.
The heavy platinum rolled twice and stopped against her scarlet shoe.
Before Vanessa could speak, Marcus’s tactical radio crackled with deafening feedback.
A high-pitched frequency screech blasted through the room's sound system.
The chandelier crystals chimed violently.
Guests covered their ears.
Then, a voice came through the radio speaker.
Ragged.
Wheezing.
Full of wet gravel.
"Dante..."
Dante stopped breathing.
The blood drained from his face until his skin looked like carved marble.
Every muscle in his neck locked tight.
The voice spoke again:
"Don't let them leave the estate, brother."
"They put me in the ground... but I'm still breathing."
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It was the voice of Lorenzo Moretti.
The younger brother Dante had buried in the family crypt seven years ago.
