Chapter 7: The Witness in the Diner
The diner in White Plains was the kind of place that had been there for forty years and looked it — vinyl booths, coffee that arrived without being asked, a counter where two men in work jackets ate without speaking.
Dominic arrived at six-fifty.
He sat in the last booth with his back to the wall and his eyes on the door.
At seven-oh-two, a woman walked in.
She was in her mid-forties, dark coat, no makeup, the look of someone who had made a decision and was now living inside it.
She scanned the room, found him, and came directly to the booth without hesitating.
She sat across from him.
"Mr.
Moretti."
"You have me at a disadvantage," he said.
"My name is Carol Voss.
I've been Vincent's personal accountant for eleven years." She placed a leather portfolio on the table between them.
"I want immunity before I say anything else."
"I'm not law enforcement."
"No.
But Frank Deluca is the best attorney in the state and he works for you.
I want his name on a document before this conversation goes any further."
Dominic looked at her.
She didn't look away.
He called Frank.
He explained the situation in four sentences.
Frank asked two questions.
Then Dominic handed the phone across the table.
Carol Voss spoke to Frank for six minutes.
When she handed the phone back, her shoulders had dropped slightly.
"All right," she said.
She opened the portfolio.
The documents inside were organized by date.
Eleven years of organized, meticulous records — transfers, accounts, shell companies, forged signatures, insurance policies, cargo manifests.
Everything Frank had found and more.
Much more.
"He's been systematically moving assets out of the Moretti family holdings for nine years," she said.
"Slowly enough that it wouldn't trigger an audit.
The logistics firm in Newark is just the most recent layer.
There are six others."
"The insurance policy on my son."
"I found out about that eight weeks ago." Her jaw tightened.
"That's when I started copying documents."
"Why didn't you come forward then?"
She looked at him steadily.
"Because I was afraid.
And because I didn't know if you'd believe me over your own brother." She paused.
"Then I heard what happened at the birthday party.
A child almost d*ed, Mr.
Moretti.
I have grandchildren."
Dominic looked at the documents.
"The man who entered the kitchen," he said.
"Who was he?"
"A man named Ruiz.
He's done work for Vincent before.
Off the books." She turned to a page near the back of the portfolio.
"I found two payments to him in the last three months.
I don't know what the first one was for.
The second was dated four days before your son's birthday."
Dominic looked at the payment record.
The amount.
The date.
"Where is Ruiz now?"
"I don't know.
But Vincent will move him fast now that the attempt failed."
"And the person inside my security team — the one still reporting to Vincent."
Carol Voss looked at him carefully.
"You know about that."
"I know there is one.
I don't know who."
She turned to another page.
A phone record.
One number highlighted in yellow.
"That number has been in contact with Vincent's personal cell seventeen times in the last month." She tapped the page.
"Cross-reference it with your staff."
Dominic photographed the page with his phone.
He looked up at her.
"You've taken a significant risk," he said.
"Yes."
"Why bring this to me directly?
Why not go to the FBI?"
"I'm going to the FBI," she said.
"This afternoon.
Frank is arranging it." She closed the portfolio and slid it across the table.
"But I wanted you to have it first.
Because of the boy." She stood, buttoning her coat.
"And because of what happened to his mother."
She left without looking back.
Dominic sat with the portfolio in front of him and his coffee going cold.
He pulled out his phone and cross-referenced the highlighted number.
The name that came back made him set the phone face-down on the table.
It was Daniel Reeves.
His head of household staff.
A man who had worked at the estate for twelve years.
A man who had been given the new security code three days ago because Dominic had trusted him without question.
He called Marco.
"I have a name," he said.
"Tell me."
"Daniel Reeves.
Pull him out of the house before I get back.
Quietly.
I don't want him to know it's coming."
A pause.
"Done," Marco said.
"Dominic — the FBI called Frank's office twenty minutes ago.
They've been building a case on the Newark logistics firm for seven months.
They didn't know it connected to Vincent."
"They know now," Dominic said.
"They want to meet."
May you like
"Set it up." He picked up the portfolio.
"And Marco — find Ruiz."
