His Brother Drugged Him For Three Years To Steal His Empire — Until A 3-Year-Old Pointed At The Untouched Tea

Vance stepped forward, opening the metallic briefcase and plugging a thumb drive directly into the boardroom’s central media console.

The projector screen behind Dominic flickered.

First came the independent forensic toxicology report signed by Dr. Sarah Lin, displaying the massive lethal concentration of neurotoxins extracted from the teacup six hours ago. Beside it were the Cayman Islands bank statements showing the exact payments from Dominic to Dr. Mercer.

A collective gasp of disgust ripped through the room. Elder Rossi slammed his fist onto the table. "You poisoned your own blood?!"

"It’s fake! It’s all fabricated!" Dominic screamed, his voice turning shrill, veins bulging on his forehead as he pointed a trembling finger at Adrian. "He paid them off! He’s paranoid! He’s crazy!"

"Play the audio, Vance," Adrian commanded, his eyes never leaving Dominic's face.

The room’s surround-sound speakers crackled to life.

It wasn't a hidden wiretap from a warehouse. It was the nursery nanny-cam audio from three nights ago.

*“Listen to me, you little brat,”* Dominic’s recorded voice hissed through the speakers, cold, vicious, and venomous. *“You see this bottle? If you ever say a word to your father about what Uncle Dominic puts in his bedtime tea, I will take your stupid rabbit, throw it in the incinerator, and lock you in the dark basement where no one will ever find you. Do you hear me?”*

A small, terrified whimper from three-year-old Lily echoed through the speakers, followed by Dominic’s cruel chuckle. *“Good girl. Daddy’s going to sleep for a very, very long time soon. And then I’m in charge.”*

The recording clicked off.

Dead, suffocating silence fell over the Moretti boardroom.

Every single elder, captain, and soldier in that room turned their gaze toward Dominic. In the syndicate, territorial disputes were business. Power struggles were expected. But threatening a motherless three-year-old child and murdering your own brother by inches was an unforgivable violation of the blood code.

Elder Rossi stood up, his face twisted in utter revulsion. He spat on the floor in Dominic’s direction. "Disgrace. You are no Moretti."

Dominic looked around wildly, seeing nothing but disgusted, murderous stares from every man he had tried to bribe. His arrogance vanished completely. He fell to his knees on the carpet, crawling toward Adrian, sobbing and clutching at Adrian’s trousers.

"Adrian! Adrian, please! I’m your brother! Our father beat me more than you! I was desperate! I just wanted to be respected like you! Forgive me, Adrian! Blood forgives blood!"

Adrian looked down at the sniveling man at his feet. There was no rage left in Adrian’s eyes—only a cold, hollow pity.

Adrian reached down, grabbed Dominic by his expensive lapels, and hoisted him effortlessly onto his feet. Adrian leaned in close, his voice a low, terrifying whisper.

"Elena didn't forgive you. And neither will I."