Chapter 2 - The Contract in the Tower
The rain over Providence showed no sign of stopping when a black armored Maybach pulled up to the front entrance of Saint Jude’s Pavilion at 7:45 AM.
Karen sat in the plush leather back seat, dressed in a tailored charcoal coat and silk blouse that Victor’s personal stylist had delivered to her hotel suite three hours earlier. Victor had moved her out of her Honda before sunrise, placing her in the penthouse suite of the Omni Hotel with orders to rest, bathe, and wear clothes fit for a woman standing beside him.
Across from her sat Victor Marchetti, reading a stack of legal documents while sipping dark espresso from a porcelain cup.
"Are you ready?" Victor asked without looking up from his papers.
"I don't know," Karen admitted, her fingers nervously tracing the smooth edges of the dark metallic card in her coat pocket. "Hodge... he isn't just a collector, Victor. He works for the Vane Financial Group. They own half the debt in Rhode Island."
Victor lowered his papers, his amber eyes settling on her with absolute composure. "Vane Financial Group is a shell company for Julian Vane. And Julian Vane owes me eleven million dollars from a land deal in Boston that went bad six years ago."
He reached out, resting his broad hand over her trembling fingers.
"When you walk through those doors, Karen, you do not walk as a girl begging for time," Victor said firmly. "You walk as my representative. In my world, we do not ask for mercy. We dictate terms."
Two minutes later, Karen stepped through the automatic glass doors of Saint Jude’s Pavilion.
The smell of disinfectant and floor wax hit her immediately. Sitting at the grand oak desk in the private administration wing was Curtis Hodge. He looked exactly as he had two years ago—wearing a sharp gray suit, slicked-back hair, and a condescending smile that didn't reach his cold blue eyes.
"Miss Delaney," Hodge said, standing up and buttoning his jacket. He checked his watch with a theatrical sigh. "7:52 AM. Cutting it close, aren't we? I already have the transport van from the Cranston facility parked in the loading dock."
"Cancel the van, Mr. Hodge," Karen said, her voice steady, surprising even herself.
Hodge chuckled softly, pulling out a clipboard. "Unless you have four thousand two hundred dollars in liquid funds right now, Miss Delaney, the discharge protocol is already underway. Your mother's room is being cleared as we speak."
Karen walked directly up to his desk. She didn't offer an excuse. She didn't cry.
She pulled the dark metallic card from her pocket and slapped it onto his desk, right over his clipboard.
Hodge’s sarcastic smile vanished instantly the moment his eyes landed on the gold crest stamped on the corner of the card: MARCHETTI ENTERPRISES - EXECUTIVE ACCESS.
"Where... where did you get this?" Hodge stammered, his face losing its color.
"Swipe it," Karen commanded, leaning forward, her eyes flashing with a dangerous confidence she had learned from Victor Marchetti just an hour ago. "Clear the balance. Pay the next twelve months in advance. And then call your boss, Julian Vane, and tell him Victor Marchetti wants his eleven million dollars back by noon."
Hodge’s hands began to shake as he reached for the card reader. "Miss... Miss Delaney, there must be a misunderstanding—"
"No misunderstanding," a deep voice boomed from the entrance corridor.
The heavy glass doors swung open, and Victor Marchetti strode into the lobby, flanked by two towering men in dark suits. The entire room fell into an icy silence. The hospital staff stepped back, recognizing the sovereign king of Federal Hill immediately.
Victor walked slowly up to Hodge’s desk, resting one broad hand on the wood, leaning down until he was eye-to-eye with the terrified collector.
"You called my assistant at two in the morning," Victor said softly, his voice vibrating with a lethal, suppressed fury. "You threatened her mother. You made her bleed in my kitchen."
"Mr. Marchetti... please," Hodge gasped, backing away until his knees hit his office chair. "I was just doing my job! The Vane company—"
"The Vane company no longer exists as of twenty minutes ago," Victor interrupted smoothly. He reached into his coat, pulled out a signed deed of foreclosure, and tossed it onto the desk. "I just bought seventy percent of Vane Financial’s distressed debt portfolio from Bank of America. Including your employment contract, Mr. Hodge."
Hodge blinked in horror. "What?"
Victor turned to Karen, a slow, dark smile touching the corners of his lips.
"Karen," Victor said gently, "as my lead financial director, please inform Mr. Hodge of his new status."
Karen looked at the man who had tormented her family for two years, feeling a surge of absolute liberation wash through her chest.
"You're fired, Hodge," Karen said clearly. "And if you ever come within five hundred feet of my mother or me again, Mr. Marchetti will have you cleaning the grease traps at Marchetti’s with your own toothbrush."
Hodge collapsed into his chair, speechless and broken.
May you like
Victor extended his arm toward Karen, offering her his elbow. "Shall we visit your mother now, Karen?"
Karen smiled, taking his arm, feeling the solid, unyielding warmth of his strength beside her. "I'd like that very much, Victor."
