Chapter 13 - The Trap at the Plaza Hotel
The rain returned to Pittsburgh on Wednesday night, slicking the granite steps of the Omni William Penn Hotel in downtown.
Inside the private dining salon on the mezzanine level, Arthur Pendelton sat alone at a corner table.
A half-empty tumbler of twenty-year-old scotch sat beside a folded legal document stamped with a federal subpoena.
Pendelton looked ten years older than he had seventy-two hours earlier in the Cole Meridian boardroom.
His silver hair was uncombed, his silk tie loosened, his eyes sunken and bloodshot from sleepless nights.
Across the table sat a man who did not look like he belonged in a five-star historic hotel.
His name was Thomas Vance.
Thomas was sixty-one, thick-set, with coarse, work-hardened hands and the yellowed teeth of a heavy smoker.
He was Arthur Vance’s younger brother—and Clara Vance’s estranged uncle.
Twenty years ago, Thomas had been fired from Cole Meridian’s rail yard for stealing copper wire and falsifying diesel delivery logs.
He had spent the last decade living off disability checks and petty insurance fraud in an unincorporated trailer park near Wheeling.
"You're sure about this, Arthur?" Thomas rasped, leaning over the white tablecloth, smelling of stale menthol tobacco.
"If Nathan finds out I’m talking to you, he’ll have his legal bulldogs bury me under three feet of concrete."
Pendelton leaned forward, his voice a venomous hiss.
"Nathan is completely unhinged by this girl, Thomas."
"He’s liquidating corporate reserve funds to establish personal trusts."
"He’s moving fifty million dollars of voting stock out of the family pool."
"The board is terrified, but they’re too cowardly to challenge him directly because of the federal scrutiny."
"How does that help me get paid?" Thomas demanded, tapping his dirty fingernails against the table.
Pendelton reached into his leather attaché case and pulled out a certified cashier's check for fifty thousand dollars.
He slid it across the linen, keeping his palm pressed firmly on top of it.
"Under Pennsylvania probate law, an illegitimate child whose paternity was not formally adjudicated prior to the death of the mother must undergo a mandatory third-party kinship verification if a surviving blood relative of the mother raises a formal objection."
Thomas frowned, his small, cunning eyes darting between the check and Pendelton’s face.
"Talk English, Arthur."
"You are Clara’s only surviving adult blood relative on her father’s side," Pendelton said with chilling precision.
"Arthur Vance is dead; Clara is dead."
"Under the state intestacy statute, you have legal standing to petition the orphan’s court for guardianship of June Doe, pending a complete forensic review of the custody transfer."
Thomas chuckled, a wet, rattling sound in his chest.
"You want me to ask for the kid?"
"I don't give a damn about the kid."
"I don't expect you to take her home, Thomas," Pendelton sneered.
"I want you to file an emergency petition tomorrow morning at the Allegheny County Family Division."
"I want you to claim that Nathan Cole coerced the mother into signing the original separation agreement ten years ago."
"I want you to claim that Nathan's sudden emergence is an unlawful attempt to monopolize the Vance family's surviving estate rights."
"The moment that petition is filed, the orphan’s court is required by state mandate to issue an immediate stay on the permanent custody order."
"The girl will be removed from Nathan’s penthouse and placed into neutral state protective custody for thirty days while the investigation proceeds."
Thomas’s eyes lit up with predatory understanding.
"And Nathan would rather burn down half the city than let that kid spend another night in a county shelter."
"Precisely," Pendelton whispered.
"He will settle."
"He will pay whatever figure we write on the settlement agreement to make you withdraw the petition and sign away all guardianship claims."
"Five million dollars, Thomas."
"Two and a half for you, two and a half for my legal defense fund against these absurd federal charges."
Thomas Vance reached out and pulled the fifty-thousand-dollar check from beneath Pendelton’s fingers.
He folded it carefully and shoved it into the pocket of his denim jacket.
"Where do I sign the papers?" Thomas asked, a broad, greedy grin spreading across his weathered face.
Pendelton pulled a six-page petition from his case, accompanied by a notary stamp.
"Right here on line four."
Thomas took the gold pen and scribbled his name with an uneven, shaky flourish.
What neither man noticed was the quiet waiter who had been standing twenty feet away beside the service pantry.
The waiter wasn't carrying a coffee pot.
He was wearing a miniature lapel microphone connected to a digital recording device inside his apron.
And three floors above them, in Suite 412 of the William Penn Hotel, Marcus Hayes sat wearing a pair of studio headphones, his pen taking down every word that came through the frequency.
Beside Marcus stood Captain Miller of the Pennsylvania State Police.
Miller shook his head in disgust as the audio feed transmitted Pendelton’s voice detailing the extortion plan.
"Conspiracy to commit extortion, witness intimidation of a minor ward of the state, and subornation of perjury," Miller said, reaching for his service radio.
Marcus took off the headphones with slow, deliberate precision.
"Don't move in yet, Captain," Marcus said smoothly.
Miller turned, frowning.
"Why wait? We have enough on this recording to cuff them both before they finish their drinks."
"Because Nathan doesn't just want them arrested," Marcus replied, his eyes dark behind his wire-rimmed spectacles.
"Nathan wants them to file the petition."
"He wants Thomas Vance to stand in front of Judge Abernathy in open court tomorrow morning."
"He wants the entire city to see exactly what kind of vermin crawled out of the woodwork to steal that little girl’s peace."
Marcus picked up his phone and dialed Nathan's direct line.
"Nathan," Marcus said when the call connected.
"Pendelton took the bait."
"Thomas Vance has the petition."
Across the line, Nathan’s voice was as cold and sharp as a winter blizzard over the Allegheny.
"Good," Nathan said.
"Tell Abernathy we won't be filing an objection to the emergency hearing."
"Tell him we will be there at nine o'clock sharp."
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"And Marcus... make sure the media pool has front-row seats in the gallery."
"It's time to close the book on Arthur Pendelton forever."
