Account Status: FROZEN - Contact Administrator
All of them. Every single account I had. Frozen.
I tried my backup accounts. My emergency funds. The shell company accounts I'd set up three years ago. All frozen.
"Fuck. FUCK!"
I didn’t know if this was Moretti or the fucking Feds. I called the Vitale family attorney who'd gotten me out on bail.
"Vincent, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"My accounts are frozen. All of them. I need you to help me unfreeze them. Now."
A long pause. "I can't do that."
"What do you mean you can't do that?"
"The Vitale family has officially severed ties with you, Vincent. As of six hours ago, you're no longer under our protection. Which means your accounts, your assets, everything tied to family resources have all been locked down. Same for your DeLuca ties."
"You can't do that! I'm family!"
"Youwerefamily. Until you went after Desmond’s wife, violating the treaty between the Vitales and the Morettis." His voice went cold. "Beniamino made it clear that you were cut off from the DeLucas, too. You're on your own."
He hung up. I tried calling back. The number rang busy. I tried calling my cousin in the Vitale organization. Busy. My contacts in Florida. Disconnected or busy. Everyone had cut me off.
I sat there in the dark, the reality of my situation sinking in. Abandoned and hunted. I had less than twenty-four hours to come up with two million dollars or the people I'd hired to kidnap Angelina would kill her and come for me next. I needed money. Cash. Something liquid I could move fast.
My investments. I had nearly three million in stocks, bonds, real estate investments. If I could flip them… I started making calls.
My broker's office didn't open until 9 AM. I tried his cell. Voicemail.
I tried the emergency trading desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. DeLuca, but your accounts have been flagged. We can't process any transactions without compliance approval."
"Flagged by who?"
"I can't disclose that information. You'll need to speak with our legal department during business hours."
Everyone hung up on me.
By 4 AM, I was pacing the motel room, chain-smoking, trying to think. They couldn't touch my physical assets. The cash I'd hidden. The safe deposit boxes.
I grabbed my keys and headed out to my rental car, paid for with the last of my available credit, and drove to the Wells Fargo branch where I kept my primary safe deposit box.
The bank didn't open until 9 AM. I waited in the parking lot with my hands shaking. At 8:55, a manager arrived to open. I was the first one through the door.
"I need to access my safe deposit box," I said. "Number 347."
She checked her computer. Frowned. "I'm sorry, Mr. DeLuca, but that box has been seized."
"Seized? By who?"
"Federal agents. Yesterday afternoon. They had a warrant." She showed me the paperwork on official letterhead, judge's signature, everything legal and binding.
My safe deposit box containing $500,000 in cash and bearer bonds was gone. I tried my backup box at Chase. Also seized. My third box at Bank of America. Seized. Someone had tipped off the Feds. Someone with enough power to get warrants issued and executed in less than twenty-four hours.
I drove back to the motel in a daze, my mind spinning. No cash. No accounts. No family backing. No way to pay the kidnappers. I was fucked. My phone rang. The distorted voice again.
"Status on our payment, DeLuca?"
