Chapter 3 - The Audit
The following morning, the atmosphere inside the Duca estate had shifted from ordinary aristocratic quiet to a state of high, silent tension.
By 8:00 AM, two corporate auditors from Duca Holdings sat at the long mahogany dining table, surrounded by financial ledgers, digital tablets, and encrypted hard drives. They weren't auditing the multi-million-dollar import-export terminals or the construction syndicates.
They were auditing the household accounts.
Isabella Rossi swept into the dining room at 8:30 AM, wearing a stunning emerald silk robe, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders. She expected to find her usual quiet breakfast of artisan pastries and imported fruit served by a compliant staff.
Instead, she found Lorenzo sitting at the head of the table, flanked by his chief financial officer and two grim-faced security guards.
“Lorenzo, darling,” Isabella said, forcing a bright, breathless smile as she walked over to pour coffee. “What is all this dreary paperwork? It looks like a tax raid.”
“It is an audit, Isabella,” Lorenzo said without looking up from his tablet.
Isabella’s hand paused over the silver coffee pot. A microscopic flicker of panic crossed her features before she smoothed her expression back into aristocratic amusement. “An audit of what? The kitchen supplies?”
“Among other things,” Lorenzo replied evenly. He signaled to his CFO, who slid a thick manila folder across the table toward her. “Over the last ninety days, my household accounts have absorbed twelve distinct line-item discrepancies totaling forty-four thousand dollars. Invoice headings coded for estate landscaping and antique restoration. Yet when my security team inspected the east wing gardens and the gallery artifacts yesterday, no work had been done.”
Isabella didn't touch the folder. She stood tall, her chin lifting with defensive indignation.
“Are you suggesting I am embezzling from your household petty cash, Lorenzo? After everything my husband did for this family?”
“Your husband negotiated dock tariffs, Isabella. He was well compensated,” Lorenzo said coldly. He finally raised his head, locking his dark eyes onto hers. “Furthermore, my IT director recovered the deleted sixty-second footage from the west gallery server yesterday afternoon. We watched you threaten a member of my staff, and we traced the terminal override directly to your guest suite.”
The dining room went dead silent. The auditors stared fixedly at their ledgers; the security guards stood like statues near the doors.
Isabella’s face drained of color, her aristocratic mask shattering entirely.
“That... that pathetic cleaning woman lied to you,” Isabella hissed, her voice rising in frantic desperation. “She’s a common transient! You’re taking the word of hired help over family?”
“Elena is not just a member of my staff,” Lorenzo said, standing up slowly from his chair. He was towering, imposing, and absolute. “She is under my direct protection. Which means her safety, her dignity, and her livelihood are tied to my name.”
He stepped closer to Isabella, towering over her by half a foot.
May you like
“You have two hours to pack your bags,” Lorenzo commanded quietly. “Your private driver is already waiting at the front gates. If you ever attempt to contact, threaten, or interfere with Elena or her daughter again, you will not have to worry about municipal housing boards or Newport renovations. You will find out what happens when a Duca decides to reclaim every penny you ever stole.”
Isabella opened her mouth to argue, to scream, to threaten—but one look into Lorenzo’s eyes told her that the game was over. She spun on her heel, her silk robe rustling angrily as she stormed out of the dining room toward the stairs.
