Chapter 173
Chapter 173
He waited until the room fell completely silent before he spoke, his gaze razor-sharp.
"The mess Efrain left behind—I will clean it up. Every last piece of it. If anyone here has kept their hands clean, stay. The Visconti Group doesn't shortchange loyal people."
"If your hands aren't clean, go see HR and submit your resignation. I won't come after you."
His eyes swept slowly across every face in the room. His voice wasn't loud, but every word landed with perfect clarity.
"But after today, if anyone still dares to skim off the top, I will make them give back every last cent they swallowed."
Dead silence.
No one spoke. No one moved.
The silence held for about ten seconds. Then Ulysses pulled his chair back, sat down, opened the file in front of him, and his tone shifted back to business as usual.
"All right. Let's begin."
The meeting ran two hours and wrapped up at noon.
Attendees filed out in small clusters, murmuring to one another. Ulysses was the last to leave. In the hallway, he ran into the company's CFO—a veteran who'd been with the Visconti Group for over a decade.
The CFO hesitated, then called out to him. "Mr. Visconti, there's something I need to discuss with you."
Ulysses stopped. "Go ahead."
The CFO lowered his voice. "During Efrain's tenure, several transactions went through my approval. I didn't catch the irregularities at the time. That's on me. I'm prepared to accept whatever consequences the company sees fit."
Ulysses studied him for a few seconds.
"Pull the original documentation for every one of those transactions and have them on my desk. If it was genuinely an oversight, I'll let it go. If it was intentional—you already know what happens."
The CFO nodded quickly. "I'll cooperate fully with the investigation."
Ulysses said nothing more. He turned and walked toward his office.
He stepped inside, closed the door, and stood at the window, watching the stream of traffic on the street below. Then he picked up his phone and dialed Arabella.
She answered, and he spoke first. "Things are under control here. How's your end?"
Arabella's voice came through the receiver, tinged with fatigue but still relatively light.
"The donation paperwork for the blueprints has been submitted. Once approval comes through, we can do the formal handover. Hawk and Amara's cases have been transferred to the DA's office. It's in the courts' hands now."
"Good."
After hanging up, Ulysses set the phone down and turned back to the window.
Over the next week, Ulysses personally re-audited every account Efrain had touched over the past three years.
The results were expected. They were still staggering.
Over eighty million dollars had been siphoned off. Most of it had been funneled into offshore companies controlled by Hawk. The rest was unaccounted for.
He brought in an independent third-party auditing firm to conduct a comprehensive review of all financial processes.
He simultaneously submitted the complete internal audit report to law enforcement, cooperating with the investigation into Efrain's money trail.
Every night, he was the last person to leave the building. By the time he walked out, nearly every light in the tower had gone dark.
---
As for Mireille—her cooperation in the case had been substantial. She'd provided a complete inventory of Hawk's domestic assets, detailed fund transfer records, and partial correspondence between Amara and Hawk. It was classified as a major meritorious contribution.
After careful consideration, prosecutors decided on leniency. She would only need to leave the country within a specified timeframe.
She'd already booked her flight. Her bags were packed. But on the morning she was set to leave for the airport, two detectives knocked on the door of her temporary residence.
Mireille opened the door. When she saw the two uniformed officers, the smile on her face slowly froze.
The lead detective, a middle-aged man, flashed his credentials. His tone was strictly professional.
"Mireille, you are a suspect in a homicide case from several years ago. We need you to come with us for questioning."
Mireille stood in the doorway, her fingers white-knuckled around the door handle, her face flooded with panic.
"What? Murder—I've never killed anyone—"
"Your mother has already confessed. She confirmed that the two of you conspired to kill a film producer."
The detective produced a pair of handcuffs, his expression grave. "Come with us."
Mireille froze. A distant memory—one she had deliberately buried in the deepest recesses of her mind—surged to the surface.
She remembered.
She had once tried to set up that producer to prey on Arabella, hoping to trade the scandal for her own opportunity. It hadn't worked.
When it fell apart, she and her mother had—
The thought hit her like a physical blow. She closed her eyes, the strength draining from her legs. She stumbled back and collapsed to the floor, letting the officers fasten the handcuffs around her wrists without resistance.
Mireille was ultimately sentenced to life in prison.
---
When the news reached Arabella, she was at her drafting table in the studio.
She set down her pen and stared at the news alert on her phone screen. She was quiet for a while.
Sophie sat across from her, having seen the same headline. She put down her coffee cup and shook her head.
"Damn. She could've walked away free and clear. But when you've done that much wrong, the bill always comes due."
Arabella didn't respond. She pressed the screen dark, flipped the phone face-down on the table, picked up her pen, and went back to drawing.
Sophie said nothing more. She took a sip of coffee, her gaze drifting to the overcast sky outside the window.
---
A few days later, Arabella visited Mireille in prison.
Through the thick glass partition, Mireille sat on the other side in her prison uniform.
When she saw Arabella, there was no surprise. Just a bitter, self-mocking smile.
"Arabella. You must be loving this—seeing me brought this low."
Arabella sighed, a tangle of emotions stirring in her chest.
The things from back then—she'd long since let most of them fade. What Mireille had become now didn't stir a single ripple in her.
But the woman sitting across from her still showed not a shred of remorse.
Arabella lifted her gaze, and something close to pity flickered in her eyes.
"Mireille, I never cared about what happened to you. You were the one competing with me all along. This is where it led you. Make of it what you will."
She set down the receiver. She didn't look back at the disbelief on Mireille's face. She stood and walked away.
---
Meanwhile, at the Visconti Villa.
Dahlia finished packing. One suitcase and one backpack—not much more than what she'd had when she first moved in.
She stood in the room she'd lived in for years and took one last look.
The room was warm and inviting. Even the walls were painted pink—Heath had asked the housekeeper to decorate it specially for her when she'd first arrived.
Now she was leaving. She probably wouldn't ever come back.
Her eyes stung with sudden moisture as she looked around.
She'd grown up here. She'd cried here, laughed here, done plenty of stupid things, and learned a few hard truths.
Now, everything had come full circle.