Murmurs ripple around the table. Klaus Mueller has been delaying decisions for months, driving everyone crazy with his cautious approach.
“What about the French situation?” someone asks from the far end of the table.
“Similar principle, different execution. French business culture values intellectual sophistication and personal relationships over pure profit margins.”
I distribute another set of documents. “Instead of offering them territory to control, we offer them shared expertise. They become consultants for our Mediterranean operations, getting paid for their knowledge while we gain access to their networks.”
“Clever,” Tony admits grudgingly.
“The Russians are more direct. They want to know exactly what they’re getting and what they’re giving up. No ambiguity, no hidden clauses. Brutal honesty in exchange for absolute loyalty.”
For the next hour, I walk them through strategies for every major international contact. The men ask pointed questions, testing my knowledge and logic. Some challenges feel genuine, others seem designed to make me stumble.
I don’t stumble.
“Impressive work,” Lorenzo finally declares. “You’ve solved problems we’ve been wrestling with for years.”
“Thank you.”
“How did you learn so much about international business practices?” Steve asks.
“College coursework, personal research, and paying attention during negotiations. Plus, being multilingual helps you understand cultural nuances that don’t translate directly.”
“Six languages, isn’t it?” Tony’s tone suggests he’s already investigated my background thoroughly.
“Seven, actually. I’ve been working on Mandarin.”
“Of course you have.” His smile turns genuine for the first time today. “Anything else we should know about your capabilities?”
“I’ve identified several new revenue streams we’re not currently exploiting. Legitimate businesses that could launder money while generating real profits.”
“Such as?”
“Art galleries, wine importing, luxury car dealerships. High-end businesses that deal in cash, have subjective pricing, and attract wealthy clients who don’t ask uncomfortable questions.”
The room falls silent as they process this. I’ve just outlined ways to clean dirty money through respectable enterprises, showing them I understand both sides of their operations.
“Mrs. Moretti,” Tony says slowly, “I believe we underestimated you.”
After the meeting ends, several men approach individually to discuss specific projects. Lorenzo wants my help with shipping logistics. Steve needs advice on French regulatory compliance. Even Tony grudgingly admits my proposals have merit.
By evening, I feel like I’ve passed some invisible test.
“That was well done,” Alaric tells me as we walk to our room. “You impressed them.”
“They’re easier to impress than I expected.”
“Don’t underestimate what you accomplished today. Most of those men have been skeptical about your role in the family. Now they see you as an asset.”
“Good. That was the point.”
In our bedroom, I settle at the small desk to review documents for tomorrow’s follow-up meetings. Financial records, contract amendments, shipping manifests. The usual paperwork that keeps criminal enterprises running smoothly.
That’s when I see it.
My signature on a document I don’t remember signing.
The paper is a financial transfer authorization, moving two million dollars from one account to another. The signature at the bottom is clearly mine—“K. Moretti” in my distinctive handwriting.
