Chapter 11 - The Deposition at SunriseThree days later, the legal conclusion of the Bellini investigation was finalized in the federal executive building on Dearborn Street.
Assistant United States Attorney Marcus Vance held a formal press conference on the courthouse steps, announcing the complete dismantling of the Crestline Logistics network and the seizure of forty-eight million dollars in illegal cartel communications equipment.
The Moretti organization was publicly commended by the Department of Justice for its voluntary forensic cooperation and compliance audits, officially clearing Luca’s commercial freight operations of all association with illegal interstate trade.
Inside the executive conference room on the twelfth floor, Luca and I sat across from Prosecutor Vance as the final administrative releases were executed.
Vance signed the last document, capping his gold fountain pen with a satisfying click.
He looked across the table at Luca, then turned his gaze to me with profound, professional respect.
“Miss Reed,” Vance said warmly. “Your deposition regarding the conference room conversation was the critical hinge that allowed our forensic team to obtain the emergency search warrants for Pier 14. Without your testimony, those containers would have been distributed across six states within forty-eight hours.”
“I just told the truth, Mr. Vance,” I replied softly.
“In our line of work, Miss Reed,” Vance smiled gently, “telling the truth when an empire is leaning on your shoulder is the rarest form of courage there is.”
He stood up, offering his hand to both of us.
“The case is officially closed. The Bellini family will remain in federal jurisdiction in Montreal. Cook County is clean.”
As we walked out of the federal building into the bright autumn sunshine, the city of Chicago felt different.
The cold, oppressive shadows that had governed the commercial corridors for decades seemed to have lifted, replaced by a fresh, clean breeze blowing off Lake Michigan.
Luca took my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine as we walked down the stone steps toward our waiting town car.
“Are you ready for the afternoon, Emma?” he asked softly.
May you like
“What’s happening this afternoon, Don Moretti?” I teased, looking up at him with dancing eyes.
“Something that has been waiting for forty years,” he replied with a mysterious, breathtaking smile.
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