Chapter 7: Eight O'Clock
Webb arrived at the Moretti Holdings building at seven fifty-eight.
He looked like a man who had not slept.
His jacket was the same one from the night before.
He sat down across from Dominic in the conference room on the thirty-second floor without being offered a seat, which Dominic noticed, because Webb had always been the kind of man who waited to be invited.
Caruso stood by the door.
"You said you had information about the Vescari timeline," Dominic said.
"I want something in return."
"You're not in a position to negotiate."
"I'm the only one in this room who knows what they're actually planning." Webb folded his hands on the table.
"So yes, I am."
Dominic looked at him for a moment.
"Talk.
Then we'll see."
Webb talked.
It came out in pieces, not all at once — the way confessions do when the person confessing is still deciding how much to give and how much to hold back.
He had been approached eighteen months ago, not four.
The first contact had been casual, social, at an industry event.
A man named Ferrante, who presented himself as a financial consultant.
The early conversations had been about the industry generally.
Then about Moretti Holdings specifically.
Then about Dominic personally.
"When did you understand who Ferrante worked for?" Dominic asked.
"Six months in."
"And you continued."
"I was in debt," Webb said.
"Significant debt.
Personal.
Not the company.
Ferrante offered to resolve it."
"In exchange for information."
"Yes."
"Including information about Sophia Carter."
Webb's hands moved on the table.
"I told them she had worked for the company.
That she had left.
I didn't know they would—"
"You told them she had a child," Dominic said.
"You told them she had no support network.
You told them she was alone."
Webb was quiet.
"What is the Vescari timeline?" Dominic said.
"What are they planning?"
Webb looked at Caruso, then back at Dominic.
"They're not planning to use her as leverage.
Not anymore.
The plan changed six weeks ago." He paused.
"Enzo Vescari is dying.
His sons are fighting over the organization.
The older one, Marco, wants to end the conflict with the Morettis.
The younger one, Nico, wants to end it differently."
"How differently?"
"He wants to end you," Webb said.
"Personally.
And he wants to do it in a way that destroys the Moretti name completely.
Not just your operation.
Your family.
Your legacy." Webb met his eyes.
"He found out about the child.
He knows she's yours.
His plan is to take her."
The room was very still.
"Take her," Dominic repeated.
"Use her to bring you out in the open.
On his terms.
In a location he controls." Webb's voice had lost all its earlier steadiness.
"I found out three weeks ago.
That's when I resigned.
I didn't — I didn't know it would go that far.
I thought it was business intelligence.
I didn't think—"
"You didn't think," Dominic said.
"No."
Dominic stood.
"Caruso."
"Sir."
"Get my lawyer up here.
And call the FBI contact.
The one we used in 2019." He looked at Webb.
"You're going to give a full statement.
Everything.
Ferrante's name, the meetings, the dates, the payments, all of it.
In exchange, my lawyer will speak to the prosecutor about cooperation.
That's the deal.
Take it or don't."
"I'll take it," Webb said immediately.
"Good." Dominic walked to the door.
"One more thing."
Webb looked up.
"The three women you removed from the Manhattan office.
I've reinstated them with full back pay.
If any of them choose to pursue a personal claim against you, I will not interfere."
Webb nodded once.
He looked smaller than he had the night before.
Smaller than he had ever looked in eleven years.
Dominic left the room.
In the hallway, Caruso fell into step beside him.
"Connecticut?" Caruso said.
"Connecticut," Dominic confirmed.
"And get Elena on the phone.
I need her to stay with Sophia and Lily today while I deal with this."
"She'll say yes."
"I know.
She'll also have opinions."
"She always does, sir."
Dominic's phone was already at his ear.
Sophia answered on the second ring.
"Something's happened," she said.
Not a question.
"Webb talked.
I need to tell you in person.
I'm coming to you now."
A pause.
"How bad?"
He thought about Lily on the couch with her rabbit.
About the crayon drawing above the radiator in the Brooklyn apartment.
About a five-year-old who had crossed the city alone because her mother wouldn't ask for help.
"I'm handling it," he said.
"Don't let Lily outside the gate today."
Another pause.
Longer.
"Dominic." Her voice was very quiet.
"Tell me she's safe right now."
"She's safe right now.
I promise."
May you like
"Okay." A breath.
"Drive fast."
