Chapter 3 - The Ghost Protocol and the Iron-Clad Exit
Hundreds of miles away from the sprawling Moretti estate in Chicago, a sleek black town car pulled up outside a secluded, high-security boutique law firm in downtown Milwaukee.
Claire Bennett stepped out of the vehicle, pulling her charcoal wool coat tightly around her slender frame against the biting autumn wind.
Her eyes were calm, devoid of the tears that had tortured her during her final hours in that suffocating marriage.
She walked through the frosted glass doors, her heels clicking steadily against the polished terrazzo floor.
Waiting for her inside a private conference room was Marcus Vance, Chicago’s most ruthless high-net-worth divorce attorney and a former federal prosecutor who specialized in dismantling criminal enterprise assets.
Marcus stood up, offering a respectful nod as he shook her hand firmly.
Mrs. Moretti, or should I say, future independent woman, it is an honor to take your case.
Claire offered a faint, tired smile as she took a seat at the mahogany table, sliding a thick leather portfolio across the surface.
Let’s cut straight to business, Marcus.
I want complete financial disentanglement, full custody protection clauses, and an immediate injunction freezing all commingled joint accounts before Vincent even realizes I’ve lawyered up.
Marcus raised an eyebrow in genuine admiration as he flipped open the folder and scanned the meticulously organized documents.
You’ve already separated your personal corporate dividends, secured your firm’s intellectual property rights, and documented every single transaction Vincent made toward the Reynolds household over the past twenty-four months.
Claire nodded coolly, her hazel eyes hardening with steely resolve.
When you live with a man who controls half the underground economy of the Midwest, you learn to keep meticulous records if you want to survive.
He thinks I’m a fragile housewife who will panic and run out of money within a week.
He doesn't know that I liquidated my personal stock portfolio three months ago when I found out he registered himself as Noah’s legal guardian behind my back.
Marcus chuckled low in his throat, pulling out a fountain pen and uncapping it with a decisive click.
Vincent Moretti is about to find out that his most dangerous enemy isn’t a rival syndicate boss from the Outfit.
It’s his own pregnant wife whom he systematically underestimated.
Let’s serve him with the papers tomorrow morning during his weekly executive board meeting at Moretti Logistics.
We’ll hand-deliver the petition right in front of his board of directors and his consigliere.
Claire’s expression remained unreadable as she looked out the panoramic window toward the gray horizon.
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Make sure the restraining order includes a mandatory stay-away radius from my residence and my medical appointments.
I will not let him near my child until a judge decides what kind of father a mafia boss really is.
