Chapter 4 - The Poisoned Legacy
The visitor’s room at the state penitentiary was sterile, cold, and smelled faintly of industrial disinfectant. A thick panel of bulletproof glass separated me from the small, bare booth on the other side.
The heavy steel door unlocked, and Matteo was escorted inside by two guards. He was dressed in a orange prison jumpsuit, his once-immaculate hair messy, his eyes dark with sleep deprivation. When he saw me sitting calmly across the glass in a tailored suit, a flash of pure hatred crossed his face.
He picked up the receiver. I picked up mine.
"You look terrible, Matteo," I said smoothly, my voice lacking any trace of heat.
"You think you're smart, don't you, Julian?" Matteo sneered, leaning against the counter. "You think having those documents changes anything? Charlotte and I have legal protection. The best defense attorneys in the state are already filing motions to dismiss the evidence. That housekeeper’s kid—Sophia—she had no chain of custody when she brought that baby in! Any judge will throw that out as tampered evidence!"
"Arthur Pendelton is dead, Matteo," I said plainly.
Matteo froze. The color drained from his face instantly. "What... what did you say?"
"He was poisoned in his holding cell yesterday. The syndicate cut their loose ends," I continued, watching his reaction closely. "And thirty minutes ago, Victor Sterling and Harrison Vance were arrested at their private estates for human trafficking, corporate fraud, and racketeering. The hard drives from St. Helena’s basement archive were leaked to the federal prosecutor."
Matteo began to sweat, his breathing becoming shallow. "Victor... Victor was arrested?"
"The entire house of cards has fallen, brother. The board of directors held an emergency session two hours ago. They unanimously stripped you of all proxy rights, terminated your trust fund, and appointed me sole director for life."
"You can't do that!" Matteo screamed, pounding his fist against the bulletproof glass. "Dad left me a share! I am a Moretti!"
"You surrendered your right to be a Moretti the moment you let a child be thrown into a dumpster like trash!" I snapped, my voice rising for the first time, sharp as a razor. "You were willing to let my son freeze to death so you could live off my wealth!"
"It wasn't my idea!" Matteo panicked, his composure shattering into pathetic desperation. "It was Charlotte! She planned everything! She forged the records! She made contact with Dr. Vance! She told me you would sign the papers without asking questions if you were broken by grief! Please, Julian! You have to help me! They'll kill me in here!"
"You made your bed, Matteo," I said coldly. "Now you get to sleep in it."
I hung up the receiver while he was still screaming, pounding his fists against the glass as the guards tackled him to the floor and dragged him away.
Ten minutes later, Charlotte Mercer was brought into the room.
Unlike Matteo, she walked in with her head held high, her spine straight, wearing her orange jumpsuit as if it were a designer gown. She sat down, picked up the phone, and looked at me with those cold, piercing eyes.
"Julian," she said, her voice smooth and unbothered. "I assume you're here to gloat?"
"I'm here to look at the monster who slept in my bed for three years," I replied quietly. "Did you ever love me, Charlotte? Even for a second?"
She let out a soft, melodic laugh that sent a chill down my spine. "Love you? Julian, you were a target. A tool. A foolish, romantic man who believed in soulmates and happy endings. My sister was weak—she let her emotions ruin her business. I learned from her mistake. I took what was mine, and then I aimed higher. You were just the biggest prize in the city."
"And Leo?" I asked, my grip tightening on the receiver. "How could you carry a child for nine months, feel him kick, and then order him to be taken away?"
"He was an instrument," she answered without a shred of hesitation. "A key to open your vaults. Nothing more. If he had to be disposed of because the plan went sideways, that was simply acceptable collateral damage."
I stared at her, feeling a strange sense of clarity wash over me. The pain, the betrayal, the phantom grief—it all evaporated, replaced by a profound, cold pity.
"You think you're a mastermind, Charlotte," I said softly. "But you missed one tiny detail."
She frowned slightly, her composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "What detail?"
"Sophia," I said. "An eight-year-old girl who had more humanity in her little finger than you have in your entire body. She walked into that room because she heard a child crying. You calculated every legal loophole, every financial transfer, every corporate bribe... but you never calculated love, or kindness, or basic human decency. That is why you failed."
I stood up, adjusting my jacket.
"Where are you going?" she asked, her voice dropping its cool facade, replaced by a sudden edge of anxiety.
May you like
"To give my son his bottle," I replied. "Enjoy the rest of your life behind bars, Charlotte. The Mercer name dies with you."
I walked out of the visitation room, leaving her banging on the glass, her face twisted in rage as the harsh fluorescent lights exposed the monster she truly was.
