Chương 20 - The Echo of a Dying Shot
The sound of crashing waves filled the small, sterile room.
Sloane froze, her fingers lifting off the leather cover of the ledger as if the book had suddenly caught fire.
Then came the raw, desperate voice of David Sterling through the speaker:
*"I didn't take enough! Your family has owned this city for three generations! You won't miss forty million!"*
Sloane’s lips parted, her breath catching in her throat.
The attorney beside her stiffened, his eyes darting toward the digital device.
Then, the sound of the gunshot exploded through the small conference room.
Sloane gasped, jumping back in her leather chair.
*"Drop the gun, David! The railing—watch the railing!"*
Then, the sickening sound of the splash.
The violent churn of the propellers.
My father’s frantic, ragged shouting:
*"Arthur! Throw the ring! Arthur, where is he?!"*
Silence descended upon Private Saloon Four.
The digital player clicked off.
Sloane’s face was devoid of color, her skin turning an ashen gray that matched the stone walls outside.
"No..." she whispered, shaking her head in denial.
"No, that's fabricated."
"You faked it... Julian said—"
"Julian doesn't know anything," I said, my voice cutting through her delusions with surgical precision.
"Julian was a greedy, mediocre parasite who saw what he wanted to see."
"Your father didn't drown because Thomas Caldwell wanted him dead, Sloane."
"Your father drowned because he stole forty million dollars from his own employees' pension fund, pulled an illegal firearm on his employer, and fell over the railing while trying to commit murder."
I took a step closer to the table, my shadow falling over her and the ledger.
"The ledger you are holding shows the forty million your father embezzled."
"It shows the money my father paid out of his own pocket to replace those stolen pensions so the workers wouldn't starve."
"And the payment to the coroner?"
"It was an act of cowardice, yes."
"My father protected his name instead of facing the press."
"But that is a misdemeanor obstruction charge whose statute of limitations expired in 2009."
"Whereas your actions..."
I gestured to the two Swiss federal marshals standing behind her chair.
"You used forged credentials to access a deceased executive's private safety deposit box in Miami."
"You transported stolen corporate property across three international borders."
"And five minutes ago, your attorney attempted to extort one hundred million dollars from me on an audio-recorded line inside a Swiss sovereign bank."
Dumont immediately pulled his hands away from the table, his face white with panic.
"I was not informed of this recording," Dumont stammered, raising his hands toward the marshals.
"I withdraw my representation of this client immediately!"
Sloane grabbed the ledger, clutching it to her chest like a frightened child clutching a doll.
"You can't do this to me!" she screamed, tears of rage and humiliation spilling down her cheeks.
"I gave three years of my life to Julian for this!"
"I destroyed my own life to avenge my father!"
"You didn't destroy your life for your father, Sloane," I said softly, looking down at her with cold, unyielding pity.
"You destroyed your life because you inherited his greed."
The two marshals stepped forward, their heavy hands clamping down onto Sloane's ivory-clad shoulders.
The click of steel handcuffs sounded shockingly loud in the pristine marble room.
The ledger was pulled from her fingers and placed inside an evidence bag by Monsieur Laurent.
"Elena! Elena, please!" Sloane shrieked as she was hauled to her feet, her heels slipping against the polished floor.
"Julian swore to me! Julian swore he had the rest of the documents!"
"He said there was another box in New York!"
"He said there was a second vault!"
I paused just as I reached the frosted glass door.
I turned around slowly, looking at her frantic, tear-stained face.
"What did you say?" I asked.
Sloane laughed, a broken, hysterical sound between sobs as the officers dragged her toward the side exit.
"You think you won, Elena?" she yelled, her voice echoing down the corridor.
"Julian didn't just take the ledger from the study!"
"He found the key to the North River Warehouse!"
"He said your father didn't keep his real secrets in your house!"
"He sold the warehouse key three days ago before the police took him in!"
"He sold it to someone who hates you more than Marcus Vance ever could!"
The officers pulled her through the heavy fire doors, cutting off her hysterical laughter.
The corridor fell into an abrupt, chilling silence.
Arthur stepped up beside me, his brow furrowed with sudden, sharp apprehension.
"Elena..." Arthur whispered.
"The North River Warehouse was decommissioned fifteen years ago."
"Your father told me he sold the lease."
I felt an icy tendril of dread wrap itself around my spine.
My father had never sold a piece of waterfront property in his entire life.
"He didn't sell it," I said, my voice barely audible.
"He hid something there."
Before Arthur could reply, my phone began to vibrate violently in my coat pocket.
I pulled it out.
It was not Julian.
It was an unlisted satellite number from upstate New York.
I swiped the screen and brought the phone to my ear.
"Elena Caldwell," I answered coldly.
A heavy, distorted breathing came over the line, followed by the metallic click of a revolver hammer being pulled back.
A man’s voice, raspy, ancient, and filled with decades of suppressed fury, spoke into my ear:
*"Tell me, Elena... did your father ever tell you what we actually pulled out of the Hudson River that night?"*
May you like
The line went dead.
I stood frozen in the cold marble hall of the Geneva bank, staring at the darkened phone screen as my heart hammered against my ribs.
