Chapter 7 - Vincent shut the folder immediately.Mom pulled me behind her.
“No.”
Her voice shook.
“No, no, no.”
The photograph had been taken inside our apartment.
Not outside.
Not through a window.
Inside.
Someone had been standing near my bed while I slept.
Vincent's guards searched the room.
Nothing.
No cameras.
No fingerprints.
No hidden doors.
Only folders.
Seventy-seven of them.
Vincent opened another.
A woman named Claire Monroe.
Inside were months of bank statements.
She had worked for Sterling for fourteen years.
The final page showed a withdrawal.
$5,430.30.
Exactly the amount owed to Mom.
Vincent's eyes narrowed.
“That cannot be coincidence.”
Mom looked confused.
“She had my exact wages?”
“No.”
He showed her.
“The money was withdrawn three days before your first paycheck was missed.”
Mom's face tightened.
“So someone planned this?”
“Months ago.”
Vincent kept searching.
Every unpaid employee had a matching payment.
Exactly what they were owed.
Each amount had been withdrawn in advance.
But the money never reached them.
Instead, it went somewhere else.
A company called Northstar Trust.
Vincent recognized the name.
“Northstar.”
One guard asked:
“You know it?”
Vincent nodded slowly.
“It belongs to someone who disappeared twenty years ago.”
“Who?”
Vincent stared at the documents.
“My father.”
Mom looked at him.
“Your father?”
“He died in 2004.”
Vincent closed his eyes.
Then he noticed something else.
The Northstar account was still active.
And someone had logged into it that morning.
From inside Chicago.
Vincent's phone rang.
Unknown number.
He answered.
A woman's voice whispered:
“Vincent.”
He froze.
“Claire.”
Mom looked at him.
The voice continued.
“You finally found the room.”
“Where are you?”
“You can't protect them.”
“Who?”
“Rory.”
Mom pulled me closer.
Vincent's eyes went cold.
“Where are you?”
“Look under the desk.”
The line went dead.
Vincent crouched.
There was a tiny metal box taped underneath.
He removed it.
Inside was a key.
And a note.
77 IS NOT THE NUMBER OF EMPLOYEES.
Vincent frowned.
“What is it?”
He turned the note over.
On the back:
IT IS THE NUMBER OF DAYS UNTIL THE TRANSFER.
Mom stared.
“What transfer?”
Vincent didn't answer.
He checked the date.
Then his face changed.
“Forty-three days.”
“Until what?”
He looked at the folders.
“Until someone moves the money.”
“From where?”
He pointed toward the files.
“From every victim.”
Mom swallowed.
“How much?”
Vincent began calculating.
One account.
Another.
Another.
The total grew rapidly.
One million.
Five million.
Ten.
He stopped at:
$77,000,000.
Mom stared.
“Seventy-seven million?”
Vincent nodded.
“That's why this was hidden.”
“What are they doing with it?”
Vincent flipped through the records.
“Buying something.”
“What?”
He found the last document.
His expression darkened.
“Sterling Bistro isn't a restaurant.”
Mom stared.
“What is it?”
“A front.”
“For what?”
Vincent handed her the document.
The building beneath the restaurant had been transferred into another corporation.
Sterling Transit and Logistics.
Mom frowned.
“Why would a restaurant need logistics?”
Vincent looked at her.
“It doesn't.”
A second document showed underground construction.
Seven floors below street level.
Mom whispered:
“What is under the restaurant?”
Vincent folded the papers.
“We're going back.”
“Tonight?”
“No.”
He looked at the clock.
“Now.”
As they prepared to leave, one guard called out.
“Boss.”
He held up another photograph.
It showed David Sterling entering a warehouse.
May you like
Beside him was Daniel Carter.
And beside Daniel was Vincent's dead father.
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