Chapter 4: The Fugitive's Past
The confession hung in the quiet parlor, heavy with personal desperation rather than corporate malice. Moretti crossed his arms over his chest, his dark eyes studying Elena’s posture, searching for any micro-expression of deception. In his world, everyone was running from something, but running from an abusive past was vastly different from running interference for an international bombing syndicate.
"Elaborate," Moretti instructed, his voice remaining even. "What kind of man are you hiding from?"
Elena let out a shaky breath, walking over to the sofa where Julian was quietly stacking wooden blocks. She gently smoothed a stray lock of dark hair from her son's forehead before looking back at Moretti. "My ex-husband, Marcus Vance. He wasn't just a regular blue-collar worker; he was a master logistics coordinator for private security firms before he got involved with corporate espionage. When I found out he was selling stolen shipping manifests to rival syndicates, I tried to leave with Lily. He threatened to take her away, told me I'd never see her again. I packed whatever we could fit into a duffel bag and ran across state lines."
Moretti tilted his head slightly, connecting the dots in his mind. "Marcus Vance. The name sounds familiar. Did he work with the Vanguard Group three years ago?"
"Yes," Elena whispered, her eyes widening in surprise. "How did you know that?"
"Vanguard handled our port security audits before we severed ties over financial discrepancies," Moretti replied calmly. "If Vance is your ex-husband, that explains why your application crossed my desk so quickly. My automated background screening flags former Vanguard associates as potential security liabilities. My HR department should have rejected you outright."
"They would have," Elena admitted, looking down at her hands. "Except I used my maiden name on the initial application and updated my documents through a legal loophole to keep Marcus from tracing my social security number. I didn't know your estate used advanced screening algorithms until after I was hired. By then, I had nowhere else to go."
Moretti uncrossed his arms and paced slowly toward the tall parlor window, looking out over the manicured lawns where estate security guards were already sweeping the grounds with tactical flashlights. If Marcus Vance was in the city, and if he knew Elena worked in Moretti’s household, the wedding cake bomb might not have been a targeted assassination against Moretti alone. It could have been a message, or worse, a twisted attempt to frame Elena for an act of mass murder to strip her of custody permanently.
"If Vance is hunting you," Moretti said slowly, turning back to face her, "he knows where you are now. The explosion would have made national news, and if he planned it, he expected you to be caught in the blast radius or blamed for the failure."
Elena’s face drained of all remaining color. Her hands began to shake uncontrollably, and she grabbed the back of the sofa for support. "Blamed? You think he set this up to frame me?"
"It fits," Moretti said grimly. "A disgruntled maid with a mysterious background working for a high-profile target, planting a device in the centerpiece of a wedding. The media would have painted you as a radical extremist or a pawn in a revenge plot. You and your daughter would have been locked away forever, and Vance would remain entirely invisible."
Julian looked up from his puzzle, sensing the sudden tension in the room. "Daddy, is someone going to hurt us?"
Moretti walked over to his son, kneeling down to look him in the eye. "No, Julian. Nobody is going to touch you or Elena. I promise you that."
He stood back up and pulled out his encrypted phone once more. "Victor, run a full biometric and financial trace on Marcus Vance. Check flight manifests, rental cars, and burner phone activations within a fifty-mile radius over the last forty-eight hours. I want to know where he is sleeping tonight."
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"Already on it, boss," Victor’s voice crackled through the speaker. "We pulled traffic camera footage near the service entrance. We got a partial face match on a man matching Vance's description driving a black sedan registered under a shell company. He parked three blocks away and walked onto the grounds using an old maintenance pass."
"Find him," Moretti ordered. "Bring him to me."
