Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Ledgers
The armored SUV tore through the midnight rain at ninety miles per hour.
Behind them, the three black Escalades maintained their predatory spacing.
"Driver, cancel the route to the lake house," Roman commanded without looking away from the glass.
"Where to, boss?" the driver asked, checking his side mirrors.
"The downtown trauma pavilion at St. Jude Hospital," Roman answered.
"There are private security guards, live city traffic, and four dozen surveillance cameras."
"If they open fire there, the entire state police bureau responds within three minutes."
Marcus slipped the recovered tracker into a lined lead pouch and sealed the zipper.
The green light was instantly smothered by the signal-blocking fabric.
"If they lose the signal now, they will either break off or ram us," Marcus muttered.
Roman turned his cold gaze toward the young woman shivering in the opposite corner.
Claire Bennett was still clutching her purse like a shield against her ribs.
"Talk to me, Claire," Roman said, keeping his tone measured and dangerously calm.
"You have about four minutes to convince me you are not part of this setup."
"I was buying groceries on Fourteenth Street," Claire cried, her voice trembling.
"A black van pulled up next to my compact car while I was putting bags in the trunk."
"A guy asked me for the time, and before I could look at my watch, someone threw a cloth over my face."
"They dragged me into the van and tied my hands with zip ties."
"Did they say anything to you?" Roman asked.
"One man said I had the right height and hair color," she whispered.
"He said, 'She will do just fine under the hood for forty seconds.'"
Roman glanced at Marcus, who was running her driver's license through a mobile database.
"Claire Bennett, twenty-seven," Marcus read aloud from the tablet screen.
"Employed as an administrative clerk at Grant & Weller Corporate Services."
"Clean record, no warrants, no family ties to organized syndicates."
Roman’s eyes narrowed instantly at the name of the employer.
"Grant & Weller?" Roman repeated slowly.
Claire blinked through her tears, nodding rapidly.
"Yes, it’s an accounting and compliance firm on Broad Street."
"Who was your direct supervisor?" Roman asked, leaning forward.
"David Mercer," she answered without hesitation.
The air inside the vehicle seemed to freeze instantly.
Marcus looked up from his tablet, his eyes wide with disbelief.
Roman felt a cold spike of adrenaline strike his spine.
David Mercer had been the chief financial controller for the DeLuca family for six years.
Eighteen months ago, Mercer had vanished overnight with forty million dollars of family funds.
Everyone assumed Mercer had either fled to Zurich or had been murdered by a rival crew.
"Mercer disappeared eighteen months ago," Roman said, watching her every micro-expression.
"I know," Claire whispered, swallowing hard.
"The police came to our office three times to ask questions about him."
"Did he give you anything before he walked out of that building?" Roman asked.
Claire hesitated, her eyes darting toward the floor mats.
"Claire," Roman warned softly, his voice dropping an octave.
"My cousin is in the hands of monsters, and you are sitting in the middle of a war."
"Tell me the truth right now."
"He gave me a hard drive," she admitted in a tiny, breaking voice.
"He told me it was a backup of personal tax filings."
"He asked me to keep it inside my desk at home and never plug it into any machine unless he called."
Suddenly, Claire’s mobile phone began buzzing inside her purse.
The screen lit up with an unsaved ten-digit number.
Marcus immediately held a handheld scanner over the phone to check for wiretaps.
"Clean line, boss," Marcus nodded.
Roman gestured with his chin toward the screen.
"Put it on speaker, Claire."
"Do not say anything stupid."
Claire tapped the screen with a trembling finger and held the phone between them.
"Hello?" Claire whispered.
A deep, electronically altered voice came through the speaker.
"Did the prince of the DeLuca family treat you with courtesy, Miss Bennett?"
Roman leaned in close to the microphone.
"Where is Isabella?" Roman demanded, his voice slicing through the static.
The voice on the other end let out a low, dry chuckle.
"Isabella is resting comfortably, Roman."
"She will remain healthy as long as you do not damage our little delivery."
"You violated the trade," Roman snarled.
"We never agreed to trade Isabella for customs papers," the caller replied smoothly.
"We wanted you to meet David Mercer’s loyal little secretary."
"We needed you to know that the forty million dollars was never about money."
Claire gasped, shaking her head in confusion.
"I don't have his money!" she screamed into the phone.
"Check your apartment camera, Miss Bennett," the voice whispered before the line went dead.
Marcus pulled up the feed from Claire’s home security app on his mobile tablet.
The camera in her apartment hallway showed two men in black tactical gear inside her bedroom.
One of them held a crowbar, while the other carried an open lockbox.
The antique wooden drawer of her desk had been smashed into splinters.
A moment later, a picture was forwarded directly to Claire’s number.
It was a high-resolution photograph of David Mercer sitting in a motel room.
He was bruised, terrified, and holding a copy of this morning’s daily newspaper.
Behind Mercer stood a tall man whose face was cut out of the frame.
On the man’s right hand was a heavy gold signet ring depicting a wolf coiled around a dagger.
Roman’s heart hammered against his ribs like a sledgehammer.
That was not just any ring.
May you like
It was the personal signet ring of his father, Vittorio DeLuca.
A ring that was supposed to have been buried with his father three years ago.
