Chapter 3 - The Interrogation of William MercerThe subterranean holding vaults beneath the carriage house were freezing, smelling of damp masonry, motor oil, and wet limestone.
William Mercer sat strapped to a heavy iron chair beneath the blinding glare of an overhead halogen work light.
His bespoke gray suit was torn at the lapels, his split lip dripping dark crimson onto his silk tie, his hands shaking violently within steel transport cuffs.
Daniel stood beside the wall, holding an open leather attache case filled with surveillance files, telephoto camera bodies, and an encrypted hard drive.
The heavy iron vault door groaned open.
Luca walked into the concrete room, flanked by me. I wore a warm, oversized black cashmere overcoat that Mrs. Carter had draped over my shoulders, my bruised cheek treated with cooling herbal balms that Dr. Harris had applied.
When Mercer saw Luca Moretti step into the light, every drop of blood drained from the investigator’s face.
“Mr. Moretti... please!” Mercer shrieked, thrashing against the iron straps. “I am an independent private investigator licensed by the state! I was hired on a standard domestic retainer! Miss Bellini told me she was your legal fiancée—she had executive authorization to audit your movement!”
Luca did not shout. He pulled up an overturned wooden crate, sitting down directly across from the trembling man.
He rested his elbows on his knees, leaning forward until his face was six inches from Mercer’s nose.
“Did my fiancée have executive authorization to slam a twenty-eight-year-old girl’s skull into an oak doorframe, William?” Luca asked softly.
Mercer choked on his own breath, his bloodshot eyes darting toward my swollen cheek.
“I... I told her to stop! I told her that assaulting domestic staff was reckless!”
“You told her she was leaving evidence,” Luca whispered, each syllable dropping like an anvil. “And then you took seventy-five thousand dollars from her alligator clutch to deliver forged surveillance files to my ex-wife at the Drake Hotel tomorrow morning.”
Mercer broke into violent, shuddering sobs, his forehead hitting his knees.
“It was Salvatore Bellini! Vanessa’s father!” Mercer wept, the truth pouring out in desperate waves. “Salvatore has three container ships arriving from Veracruz on Friday! If he doesn't own the terminal berths, the federal DEA task force will seize the manifests! He needed Claire to forfeit the voting shares before the wedding toast!”
Luca reached into his breast pocket and produced the folded photograph of himself and Claire.
“Where are the rest of the negatives, William?”
“In the briefcase!” Mercer gasped, pointing his chin frantically toward Daniel. “Under the false lining! The digital memory cards, the audio recordings of Vanessa’s instructions, and the forged hotel receipts! Take it all! Just let me board a train out of Cook County!”
Luca stood up slowly, looking down at the broken investigator with cold, absolute disgust.
“Daniel.”
“Yes, boss.”
“Bag the files. Deliver Mr. Mercer and the encrypted drive directly to Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance at the federal building on Dearborn Street. Inform him that the Moretti family is filing formal charges for interstate corporate extortion, aggravated assault, and conspiracy to commit securities fraud.”
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Luca turned back toward the door, his large, warm hand resting naturally against the small of my back, guiding me gently out of the freezing vault.
“Let us go see if my bride is sleeping peacefully.”
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