Chapter 6 - The Paper Trail
Vance froze, a stack of hundred-dollar bills slipping from his fingers and scattering across the glass desk. He was a small, slick man with a manicured beard and a thousands-dollar suit, but beneath the luxury, I could see the terror of a man who realized his money couldn't save him.
"Who are you?" Vance stammered, raising his hands slowly. "If this is a robbery, take the cash. There’s over fifty thousand here. Just take it."
"I don't want your money, Richard," I said, moving around the desk, keeping the weapon perfectly level. "My name is Daniel Mercer. I'm Emma’s father."
The color left his face. He obviously knew the name. "Mr. Mercer... look, I’m just an attorney. I represent clients. Attorney-client privilege prevents me from—"
I didn't let him finish. I caught him by his silk tie, pulling him forward across the desk until his face was inches from my suppressor.
"Privilege doesn't apply to criminal conspiracies," I whispered. "You're washing money from a foreign syndicate to pay off a state judge to throw out evidence against a man who attempted to murder my daughter. That makes you an accessory after the fact to attempted murder, and a key player in a federal racketeering charge. Tell me who’s funding the account, or I’ll let the FBI know you’ve been skimming from the syndicate’s top."
Vance’s eyes widened. "I haven't been skimming!"
"The syndicate won't care about the truth once the feds freeze this office," I countered, letting go of his tie and tapping the screen of his open laptop with the barrel of my gun. "Log into the escrow account. Show me the origin of the wire transfers."
His hands shook so violently he misspelled his password twice before getting in. I watched the screen as the internal bank ledger populated. The funds weren't coming from Cyprus. That was a dummy routing loop.
The actual source of the money was a local entity called The Meridian Development Group.
My blood ran hot. Meridian was the largest commercial real estate developer in the state. And its CEO was Victor Sterling—a billionaire philanthropist who regularly appeared on the evening news donating millions to local charities. He was the apex predator at the top of the food chain. Lena and Grant were just his low-level operators, managing the university pipeline to launder his cash.
"Sterling ordered the hit on Emma," Vance whimpered, staring at the floor. "Grant told him she had found the digital ledger. Sterling told Grant to fix it, or he’d ensure both Grant and Lena disappeared permanent-like. Grant panicked. That’s why he attacked her so brutally—he was terrified of Sterling."
"And the judge?" I asked.
"Sterling owns him," Vance admitted. "Judge Abernathy. He’s been on Sterling’s payroll for a decade. He threw out the apartment evidence because Sterling promised him a seat on the state supreme court next term."
I pulled out my military tablet, plugging it directly into Vance’s computer, downloading the entire escrow ledger and the encrypted communication logs between Vance and Victor Sterling’s representatives.
"You’re going to call Detective Miller," I told Vance, stepping back. "You’re going to tell him everything you just told me. If you try to run, or if you call Sterling, I will personally ensure the syndicate finds out you turned state's evidence."
Vance nodded frantically, reaching for his office phone with a trembling hand.
I left the building through the maintenance stairs, the data secured in my pocket. The web was unraveling, but the spider at the center was still alive and dangerous. Victor Sterling wasn't a cheap thug like Grant or a social climber like Lena. He had private security, political connections, and a small army of lawyers.
As I reached my truck, my phone rang. It was Marcus.
"Daniel, we’ve got a problem at the safehouse," Marcus said, his voice tense, the sound of wind rushing through the microphone. "A black SUV just drove past the property twice. Tinted windows, no plates. I’ve moved Emma into the panic room in the basement, but we’re exposed out here."
"I’m on my way," I said, slamming my foot onto the gas, the truck tires screeching as I tore out of the parking garage. "Hold the line, Marcus. Don't let anyone near her."
"They won't get past me, brother," Marcus said grimly. "But hurry."
May you like
The drive back to the lake house usually took forty-five minutes. I did it in twenty-five, weaving through traffic like a madman, the cold fear returning to my chest, but this time, it was laced with an absolute, uncompromising resolve.
Victor Sterling had just made his final mistake. He had come after my daughter a second time.
