Carlo laughed bitterly.
“The waitress?”
Dante’s voice remained calm.
“The interpreter.”
Something inside me shifted.
Not because he defended me.
Because Sophia straightened beside me.
For the first time that evening, everyone at the table was waiting for her words.
The auditor arrived eighteen minutes later.
Her name was Francesca Moretti, a sharp-eyed woman in her fifties carrying a laptop and a locked document case.
Dante handed her Carlo’s folder.
“Verify everything.”
She began comparing records.
Carlo spent the next ten minutes attacking everyone except himself.
The lawyers had made errors.
The bank had used outdated forms.
Sophia had forgotten signing papers.
I had mistranslated.
At that, Dante looked directly at me.
“Did you?”
The question stung.
But it was fair.
I looked at Sophia and repeated every disputed sentence back to her in sign language.
She confirmed each one.
Then I faced Dante.
“No.”
He nodded once.
“I believe you.”
Carlo went quiet.
Francesca finally stopped typing.
“Dante.”
Everyone looked at her.
“The reserve account was scheduled to transfer ninety-two million dollars at midnight.”
Even I stopped breathing.
She continued.
“The receiving entities appear connected to three holding companies.
Two are registered through proxies.
One traces back to a shipping investment group controlled by Carlo’s son.”
Carlo slammed his palm on the table.
“That is a legitimate restructuring.”
Francesca looked at him coldly.
“Not with a forged authorization.”
Dante leaned back.
His face was still calm.
His eyes were not.
“Cancel the transfer.
Freeze every foundation account Carlo can access.”
Francesca nodded.
Carlo pointed at Sophia.
“You did this.
You always turned him against me.”
Sophia watched his lips.
Then she signed something slowly.
I almost did not want to translate it.
Dante noticed.
“What did she say?”
