Chapter 5 - The Interrogation
Elena didn't flinch. After spending twelve hours worrying if a six-month-old baby would freeze to death, she had run out of fear to give to powerful men.
"My name is Elena Vance," she said clearly, her voice echoing in the large office. "I’m a housekeeper at the Briarstone Grand Hotel. Or at least, I was until this morning."
Lorenzo stared at her, analyzing every detail—her worn shoes, her cracked hands, her thrift-store coat, and the steady, unblinking glare in her eyes.
"The police were told my daughter was taken from a park in Upper Manhattan," Lorenzo said softly. "Where did you find her?"
"In a commercial dumpster in the alley behind the Briarstone at three in the morning," Elena said. "She was soaked in freezing water, wrapped in a blanket, and her fever was climbing. Someone threw her away like trash."
A dangerous silence descended upon the room. The fire in the hearth popped loudly, throwing orange embers against the glass guard.
"A dumpster," Lorenzo repeated, his tone so flat it was chilling. He looked down at Sophia, who was now sleeping peacefully against his chest, clutching his thumb. "My daughter was left in a dumpster."
"Yes," Elena said. "I brought her to my apartment, brought her fever down, and bought her medicine and milk. I couldn't go to the police because I didn't know who put her there. And I couldn't come here until I knew I could get her to you directly."
Lorenzo motioned to Vance, who stepped forward instantly. "Check her story. Search the alley behind the Briarstone. Get the security footage from the hotel's rear entrance for the last twenty-four hours. If a single frame is missing, bring me the manager."
"Yes, Don Lorenzo," Vance bowed his head and retreated quickly through the heavy oak doors.
Lorenzo turned his attention back to Elena. He stood up, still holding Sophia with practiced ease, and walked over to a wet bar in the corner. He poured a glass of amber liquid and held it out to her.
"Drink," he commanded gently. "You're shaking."
Elena realized he was right. The adrenaline that had carried her across the city was finally draining away, leaving her knees trembling. She took the glass and took a small sip. It burned her throat, but warmth bloomed in her chest.
"You spent your own money on her?" Lorenzo asked, watching her closely.
"I spent sixty dollars," Elena said. "It was all I had. But that doesn't matter."
"It matters to me," Lorenzo said. He walked over to his desk, pulled a leather checkbook from a drawer, and unscrewed a fountain pen. "Fifty million dollars was the promised reward for her safe return. I am a man of my word, Miss Vance."
Elena looked at the checkbook, then back at Lorenzo. She shook her head.
"I don't want your money, Mr. Moretti."
Lorenzo paused, his pen hovering above the paper. His dark eyebrows pulled together in genuine surprise. "Everyone wants money, Miss Vance. Especially a housekeeper who just lost her job."
"I didn't save her for a bounty," Elena said firmly. "I saved her because she was a helpless baby dying in the cold. If I take fifty million dollars from a man like you, I become part of whatever world you live in. I just want to go home."
Lorenzo looked at her for a long moment, as if trying to decipher a language he had never heard before.
Before he could answer, the office doors burst open again. Vance hurried back in, his face dark with urgency.
"Don Lorenzo," Vance said, leaning in to whisper. "We pulled the rear alley footage from the Briarstone. It wasn't an outside crew."
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Lorenzo’s eyes narrowed. "Speak."
Vance glanced nervously at Elena, then back at his boss. "The man who dropped the package in the bin at 2:45 AM was wearing a Moretti Security jacket. It was Marco."
