Chapter 7 - The Commission's Audit
The final reckoning did not take place in the darkness of the cellar, but in the boardroom of the Starlight Maritime Corporation downtown—the front company that managed the Moretti family's international shipping lines.
The seven heads of the East Coast families sat around the long mahogany table, their faces grim, their fingers heavy with gold and diamond rings that had been bought with fifty years of monopoly. At the head of the table sat Don Carmine Lucchese, a man of eighty who had survived four turf wars and three congressional investigations by knowing exactly when to change sides.
"The Chicago task force has issued forty-two indictments against the Romano crew, Aleandro," Carmine said, his voice like dry leather scraping across concrete. "The northern docks are frozen by the federal court. The commission wants to know why your right hand was running a federal wiretap inside your own house."
I sat at the other end of the table, my hands flat on the polished wood. To my right stood Lev, carrying a heavy leather briefcase.
"The wiretap wasn't inside the house, Carmine," I said, my voice perfectly calm. "The wiretap was inside Victor Romano’s wallet. He was selling our routing manifests to the Chicago district attorney to buy immunity for his own family’s human smuggling operation in Canada. An operation he ran without the commission’s approval."
I nodded to Lev, who opened the briefcase and distributed seven thick folders down the table. The old men reached for them, their eyes widening as they scanned the bank transfers, the manifest alterations, and the private communications between Victor and the federal agents.
"He was going to give them the Palermo route," I continued, leaning forward. "The route that moves sixty percent of the commission’s legal olive oil and shipping containers. If I hadn't intercepted the upload, every man in this room would be spending his retirement in a maximum-security cell in Colorado."
Carmine Lucchese closed his folder with a heavy, final thud. He looked across the table at the other bosses, seeing the cold, murderous agreement in their eyes. In our world, a boss who killed a rival was respected; a boss who brought the feds into the counting room was a dog that had to be put down.
"And the woman?" Carmine asked. "The Hale girl. Her father was the one who put my brother away in '98."
"Victoria Hale has been returned to her family in Chicago," I said. "Along with a copy of the Romano ledgers. Her father’s old friends in the justice department took one look at the files and realized she had been sleeping with the man who authorized the hit on her own family’s informants. She won't be coming back east, Carmine. Her own people have put her under protective custody to keep her from talking to the grand jury."
Carmine nodded slowly, his gnarled hand resting on the table. "You cleared the house well, Aleandro. Your father would have been proud of the cut. But who gave you the tip? The security detail at the gate said you didn't check the manifests until after you arrived from the airport."
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I stood up, buttoning my suit jacket. I looked down the long table at the men who had spent their lives watching their backs, their doors, and their own children.
"The tip came from the highest authority in my house, Carmine," I said. "Someone who knows exactly when a door shouldn't be locked."
