Chapter 8 - The Remnants of the Past
Two weeks after the bank siege, the empire outside the Tribeca penthouse was quietly restructured.
Marcus Torres was being held in a federal maximum-security penitentiary awaiting trial on charges of domestic terrorism, rackoziering, and attempted assassination, with no possibility of bail or plea bargains. The remnants of the Torres faction had either fled across international borders or surrendered their assets to Castellano Global Freight under terms that ensured they would never pose a threat again.
In the penthouse study, Dominic stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the morning snow melt under the pale March sun.
Victor entered the room quietly, holding a secure encrypted tablet.
“The federal prosecutor’s office just finalized the asset forfeiture filings from the Torres raid, Boss,” Victor reported. “All remaining syndicate accounts have been legally absorbed into our logistics holdings. The board of directors has officially ratified the security protocols for the upcoming corporate restructuring.”
“Good,” Dominic said without turning around. “Ensure that fifty million dollars from the seized accounts is anonymously funneled into the Metropolitan Children’s Foundation pediatric trauma center. The one where this all started.”
Victor blinked, a faint smirk touching his lips. “Done, Boss. Anything else?”
“Yes,” Dominic turned to face his chief of security. “Double the security detail around the penthouse. Not because of threats from the underworld... but because Miss Hart is currently planning a complete nursery renovation, and I am reliably informed that she intends to move three heavy oak dressers by herself while I’m downstairs.”
Victor chuckled softly. “Consider it handled, Boss. I’ll personally station two men outside the master suite with bubble wrap.”
“Dismissed, Victor.”
As Victor left the study, Dominic walked over to the corner of his desk.
May you like
The crystal bowl sat in its usual place. But instead of a single, solitary white orchid, there were now two. Pristine, flawless, and blooming brilliantly against the cold Manhattan light.
He picked up one of the flowers, spun it gently between his fingers, and smiled.
