Chapter 8: Thursday at Nine
Frank Moretti arrived at seven minutes past nine.
He was sixty-four years old, broad-shouldered, with silver hair and the particular ease of a man who had never once believed a room could turn against him.
He wore a dark suit and carried a leather briefcase he had owned for twenty years.
He greeted the woman at the front desk by name.
He took the elevator to the third floor.
He walked down the hall to Adrian's office and opened the door without knocking, the way he always did.
Adrian was seated behind his desk.
Lucas was standing to the left of the door.
Two other men were positioned near the window.
Frank took all of this in without changing his expression.
"Busy morning?" he said.
"Sit down, Frank."
Frank sat.
He set his briefcase on the floor beside his chair and folded his hands on his knee.
"You look tired," he said.
"Long night?"
"Yes."
"Anything I should know about?"
Adrian opened the folder on his desk and turned it to face Frank.
Phone records.
Financial transfers.
The holding company registered in his wife's name.
The intercepted call from the night before, transcribed line by line.
Frank looked at the folder.
He did not touch it.
"Vincent," he said.
"Among others."
Frank leaned back.
He was quiet for a moment, and then he did something Adrian had not expected.
He smiled.
"You're your mother's son," Frank said.
"She always found things out too.
Couldn't leave anything alone."
"You suggested using a child as leverage against me."
"I suggested using what was available." Frank's voice was perfectly calm.
"That's business, Adrian.
You know that."
"She's six years old."
"And you've been sitting in a diner for a month like a man who's forgotten what he is." Frank leaned forward.
"I built half of what you're running.
I kept this organization alive when you were thirteen years old and had no idea what any of it meant.
I am owed more than a window seat and a cup of coffee."
"You were stealing from me for two years."
"I was taking what I was owed."
"You were building a structure to replace me."
Frank said nothing.
"And when that wasn't moving fast enough," Adrian said, "you pointed Marco's people at a woman and her daughter to create pressure."
"I pointed them at a distraction," Frank said.
"You were distracted.
I was correcting it."
Adrian closed the folder.
"The federal warrant for Vincent Caruso was executed at seven this morning," he said.
"The financial records — all of them, including the holding company — were delivered to the U.S.
Attorney's office at eight.
Danny Reese provided a full statement last night.
He named Marco.
He named Vincent.
He named you."
Frank's smile did not disappear immediately.
It faded, slowly, the way light fades when a cloud moves across it.
"You'd burn your own uncle."
"You endangered a child."
"Adrian—"
"You are done here, Frank." Adrian's voice did not rise.
It did not need to.
"Your accounts are frozen.
Your access to every part of this organization ended at midnight last night.
There are two federal agents in the lobby who have been waiting since eight-thirty.
They will be patient.
You can walk out with me, or you can walk out with them."
Frank looked at him for a long moment.
"Thirty years," he said.
"I raised you."
"You did," Adrian said.
"And I remembered every lesson."
Frank stood.
He picked up his briefcase.
He straightened his jacket.
He looked at Adrian one last time.
"She's a waitress," he said.
"Whatever you think this is—"
"Goodbye, Frank."
Frank walked to the door.
Lucas opened it for him.
The two federal agents were already in the hallway.
Frank did not look back.
Lucas closed the door quietly.
The office was very still.
Adrian sat behind his desk and looked at the closed door for a moment.
Then he looked at the folder.
Then he closed it and set it to the side.
"Marco?" he said.
"Danny's testimony is enough," Lucas said.
"The federal case moves without us.
Marco's operation will be tied up in court for years."
"The diner?"
"Clear.
Has been since four this morning."
Adrian stood.
"I'm going to Rose's Diner," he said.
Lucas nodded once.
May you like
"Should I send a car?"
"I'll walk."
