Chapter 6 - The Security Renovation Nobody Could Explain

By morning, Corsaro House had become two different buildings.

In one, cooks prepared breakfast, gardeners cleared storm debris, and delivery drivers signed routine logs at the service gate.

In the other, every invoice was evidence.

Marco converted the billiard room into an investigation center. Paper records covered the green felt table. Laptops hummed beneath portraits of Corsaro men who had solved problems with far less paperwork.

Emilio sat at the head of the table for only twenty minutes before Naomi ordered him back to the conservatory.

He obeyed badly.

Etta remained because Mrs. Tunney insisted housekeeping records needed context.

She understood codes no investigator would. “EW” meant east wing. “Deep” meant furniture pulled from walls. “Scent service” appeared every second Tuesday beginning the month after Palisade finished its work.

The scent service had never been performed by housekeeping.

A private technician had entered through the garage.

His name in the log was L. Voss.

Leon Voss.

The same man who had carried tea toward Emilio the previous night.

Marco leaned over the ledger. “How often?”

“Twice a month for eleven months,” Etta said.

Each visit lasted between twelve and eighteen minutes.

Each occurred while Emilio was away from the bedroom.

And every visit was approved under the facilities budget by Luca Sorrell’s office.

Rafe arrived just after ten with no lawyers.

He looked exhausted.

“Luca is not answering.”

Marco gave him a flat look. “That surprises you?”

“It should. He answers me when I call at three in the morning.”

“Why?” Emilio asked from the doorway.

Naomi stood behind him, displeased that he had escaped the conservatory.

Rafe ignored her. “Because for the past year I have been handling more operations than you realize.”

Emilio moved slowly to a chair. “Apparently I realize very little about my own company.”

That admission cost him something. Etta could hear it.

Rafe sat opposite him.

“Luca told me cash flow was being redirected because of medical expenses and security restructuring.”

“One point eight million for a window and perfume?”

“I never saw the number.”

“You approved the contractor.”

“I approved the concept. Luca handled procurement.”

Marco slid a copy of the Palisade work order across the table. “Your initials.”

Rafe looked at them.

“Yes.”

“You signed without reading?”

“I read a three-page summary, not the engineering appendix.”

Emilio’s laugh contained no humor. “Father would rise from the grave just to slap both of us.”

Rafe almost smiled, then stopped.

Etta noticed how easily old brotherhood surfaced before suspicion buried it again.

The state investigator called with news about Voss. He had requested a lawyer and refused to answer questions. But the fake catering uniform contained a hotel laundry tag from a property owned by one of Corsaro Holdings’ subsidiaries.

The hotel’s security cameras showed Voss meeting someone in the parking garage two hours before he came to the house.

The other man wore a baseball cap and kept his face angled away.

The license plate on his car belonged to a company fleet vehicle assigned to Luca Sorrell.

Rafe stood so abruptly his chair struck the wall.

“I’m going to his office.”

“No,” Marco said.

“He works for us.”

“He may have tried to poison your brother yesterday.”

“That is exactly why—”

“Sit down,” Emilio said.

Rafe turned on him.

For a moment, Etta expected the argument to become physical. Then Rafe sat.

Emilio looked toward Marco. “Freeze Luca’s access to company systems. Quietly. Copy everything first.”

Marco nodded.

“Do not warn him.”

Rafe’s mouth tightened. “If he is innocent, you destroy him.”

“If he is innocent, an audit clears him.”

“And if he runs?”

“Then he answers your question for us.”

At noon, contractors working under police supervision opened the bedroom wall.

Etta watched from the hall behind plastic sheeting.

The water stain came from a condensation line added to cool the hidden atomizer. The line had been poorly insulated, sweating moisture into the wall for months. Black mold covered sections of the interior drywall.

The poison had created its own evidence.

Behind the device, taped to a stud, investigators found a service label.

PALISADE RESIDENTIAL SYSTEMS.

Serial number.

Installation date.

And a technician code: NP-4.

Naomi photographed it.

“NP,” Etta said.

Nobody needed her to finish.

Nathaniel Prentiss.

Marco’s phone rang before anyone could speak.

Luca Sorrell had tried to transfer twelve million dollars from a Corsaro reserve account forty-three minutes after his system access was frozen.

The transfer failed.

His office was now empty.

His car was gone.

And on his desk, investigators found a printed airline itinerary to Zurich scheduled for that afternoon.

But the flight manifest showed Luca had never boarded.

May you like

[COMPLETED] “GET YOUR HANDS OFF MY DRESS! YOU’RE NOTHING BUT AN OLD SEAM...

[COMPLETED] At the Mafia Boss's Engagement Party, I Served His Hungry So...

[COMPLETED] The Mafia Boss’s Fiancée Tried to Dismiss His Father’s Loyal...

He was still somewhere in New Orleans.

Emilio ordered no private search teams into the city. That surprised Marco enough to ask twice. The old Corsaro instinct would have been to find Luca first and let police arrive second. Emilio refused. Every unauthorized move now risked destroying the same chain of evidence they had spent two days building. For once, restraint was not weakness; it was the only way to make sure the truth survived everyone’s anger.