Chapter 13 - The Price of an Empire
The elevator descended into the oldest section of the courthouse.
Its metal walls groaned as it passed three underground levels. When the doors opened, we stepped into a chamber filled with filing cabinets, computer servers, and sealed storage containers.
The air smelled of dust and cold metal.
A single desk stood beneath a row of fluorescent lights.
On it rested a black ledger.
Michael stopped walking.
"That's it."
"The original records?"
He nodded.
"Names, locations, payments, and every order authorizing a disappearance. Father kept one complete copy here in case Sloane ever tried to turn against him."
I approached the desk.
The ledger looked ordinary. Black leather, worn edges, a brass clasp.
Something about it made my stomach turn.
I opened it.
Names filled the pages.
Some had been crossed out.
Others had dates beside them.
The final pages contained a list of people who had been marked for removal.
Michael leaned over my shoulder.
"Keep going."
I turned the page.
Then I saw her name.
CATHERINE MORETTI.
My mother.
Beside it was a date nine years earlier and a handwritten note.
Relocation completed. Subject remains under observation.
I felt my hands trembling.
The next line contained Michael's name.
Death declaration authorized. Remains substituted.
And beneath it, my own.
Guardian status approved. Subject unaware of collateral agreement.
I closed the ledger.
"They were planning this from the beginning."
Michael nodded grimly.
"Father wanted you to inherit the empire. He knew you would maintain the business, protect the money, and preserve the family name."
"And you?"
"He wanted me to disappear because I refused to take over Project Lantern."
I looked toward the elevator.
"Where did Sloane go?"
A door opened across the chamber.
Vincent stepped out, holding his wrists.
He looked battered, his shirt torn, and one eye swollen nearly shut.
"He's heading for the river terminal," he said. "There's a private plane waiting."
Michael raised his gun.
"Why should we trust you?"
"You shouldn't."
Vincent glanced at me.
"But you should hear what I have to say before deciding whether to kill me."
I gestured for Michael to lower his weapon.
"Talk."
Vincent swallowed.
"Your father ordered the operation against Elena. When Michael faked his death, I was supposed to help him escape. Instead, I reported his location to Sloane."
Michael's face hardened.
"Why?"
"Because Sloane threatened my family. My wife and son were being monitored. I thought if I cooperated, he'd leave them alone."
"And did he?"
Vincent shook his head.
"He moved them three times. He said they were safe, but he never let me see them. I realized he intended to keep me obedient forever."
He looked down at his cuffed hands.
"When Clara appeared, Sloane ordered me to identify which of your properties would be easiest to access. I gave him the security codes. I thought he'd take the girl and leave you out of it."
I stared at him.
"You thought you could control a man like Sloane by giving him exactly what he wanted?"
"I know."
"No, Vincent. You don't know. A seven-year-old girl spent her last twenty dollars because she had learned that promises weren't worth anything."
His shoulders sagged.
"And I helped prove her right."
For the first time, I saw the man beneath the excuses.
He was terrified.
But fear did not erase what he'd done.
"Where are your wife and son?" I asked.
"An abandoned hotel near the river terminal."
I glanced at Michael.
We had a choice.
Chase Sloane before he escaped, or rescue Vincent's family before they became another bargaining chip.
Once, I would have chosen revenge without hesitation.
Instead, I looked at Vincent.
"Tell me everything you know about the hotel."
His eyes widened.
"You're going after them?"
"I'm going after everyone he has threatened."
Michael gave me a faint, exhausted smile.
"Father would hate this."
"Good."
We left the courthouse through a service tunnel and reached the hotel shortly before dawn.
Inside, we found Vincent's wife and son locked in a room on the second floor. They were frightened but unharmed.
Vincent collapsed when he saw them.
His wife held him without speaking.
His son, a boy of about ten, stared at the bruises on his father's face.
"Are we safe now?"
Vincent knelt.
"I don't know, buddy."
The boy looked toward me.
"Will that man keep us safe?"
I knew what he was really asking.
Could a dangerous man make a promise and keep it?
I crouched beside him.
"Yes."
The word came naturally.
For once, I didn't need to calculate the risks before speaking.
Outside, dawn stained the river silver.
We had the ledger, the records, the witness statements, and the agreement that could claim the estate.
But Sloane still possessed something dangerous.
My father.
And as my phone rang, I realized Sloane had found the final weapon he needed.
May you like
The caller ID read:
ANTHONY MORETTI.
