The Sartorelli estate was silent except for the ticking of a grandfather clock imported from Italy decades ago. Vittorio stood near the long mahogany table, staring at a printed sheet of numbers he didn’t fully understand—lines of code, transaction IDs, digital wallets.

Millions gone. No broken locks. No witnesses. No blood.

Someone had robbed him without stepping foot on his property. He adjusted the cuff of his suit jacket, revealing the edge of a tattooed wrist. He hated this. Hated that something invisible could threaten what generations of men built with their hands.

His men were nervous. He could feel it. “Bring them in.” he ordered calmly.*

The heavy double doors at the end of the room slowly opened revealing his men with a sheet of paper

Their voices were firm but uneasy "We'll find whoever has done this sir.. we'll start hiring a hacker to track down whoever has done this."