PART 2
Three months before the funeral, Luca had discovered an unauthorized forty-million-dollar wire transfer routed through Sterling Global’s research and development division.
When he confronted Flynn, the company’s CFO, Flynn claimed it was a confidential acquisition fee for a medical patent. But when Luca brought the digital ledgers home to me, my audit revealed something far more sinister: the money had been funneled through a web of offshore entities registered in the Cayman Islands directly to Wendy and Flynn.
They weren’t just stealing corporate capital; they were systematically stripping Luca’s life’s work to cover Flynn’s massive, hidden gambling debts and Wendy’s failed real estate investments.
When Wendy realized Luca was preparing to turn the forensic audit over to the federal prosecutor, she acted.
Two weeks ago, Luca suddenly collapsed in his office after drinking coffee prepared by his mother’s personal assistant. The emergency toxicology report revealed high concentrations of a rare, synthetic paralytic compound—a substance that induced severe respiratory distress, mimicked clinical brain death, and left no immediate trace in standard hospital panels.
Wendy had immediately moved to take medical power of attorney, barring me from his ICU room and pushing the attending physicians to sign a declaration of death when his vitals flatlined.
What Wendy didn’t know was that Dr. Arthur Vance, the chief of critical care, was a longtime personal friend of mine from my days at the attorney general’s office.
Dr. Vance had recognized the symptoms of synthetic poisoning instantly, administered an antidote in secret, and helped us execute a high-stakes sting operation. We faked Luca’s death certificate, secured federal protective custody, and allowed Wendy and Flynn to move forward with their grand public narrative.
Because we needed them to feel completely safe. We needed them to act in public.
Back in the chapel, Wendy turned her attention to the podium. She stepped up to the microphone, dabbing a dry handkerchief against her eyes as she addressed the two hundred guests.
“My son, Luca, was a brilliant man,” Wendy sniffled, her voice amplifying across the chapel speakers. “Tragically, he was betrayed by the woman he trusted most. His heart simply could not bear the weight of her deceit.”
Flynn stood beside the coffin, nodding in somber agreement, looking down at Luca’s “body.”
“Before he passed,” Wendy continued, looking straight at the reporters in the back, “Luca made it clear that he wished for his mother and uncle to retain full control of Sterling Global to protect his legacy from bad actors.”
I stepped forward, my heels clicking softly against the marble aisle. “That’s a lie, Wendy.”
The room went dead silent.
Wendy’s eyes narrowed into slits. “Jessi, do not cause a scene in front of my son’s body. Have you no shame?”
Flynn stepped toward me aggressively. “Escort this woman out of the building!”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said clearly, my voice carrying to every corner of the room. “Because Luca never wrote a waiver. And he certainly never gave you his company.”
Wendy let out a cold, theatrical laugh. “He’s dead, Jessi! His voice is gone! You have no standing here!”
Right on cue, a sharp gasp erupted from the front row.
Flynn froze. He turned his head slowly toward the open mahogany coffin.
Luca sat straight up.
