Chapter 5 - The Promoter’s Ledger
The row house on south Fourth Street had peeling green paint and rotting wooden steps.
Michael Carter sat in a worn floral armchair near the front window, his trembling hands wrapped around a mug of cold tea.
When the front door opened, Grace walked in, followed immediately by Dominic Vale and two armed security operatives.
Michael looked up, his pale face draining of what little color remained.
"Grace... what have you done?"
Grace stood in the small living room, her eyes burning with a mixture of heartbreak and fury.
"Why did you lie to me, Dad?"
Michael looked at Dominic, then lowered his head in utter shame.
"Mr. Vale."
Dominic stood near the door, his presence dominating the small, cluttered room.
"Mr. Carter."
"Let us skip the pleasantries."
"Tell your daughter why you took a dive against Tommy Vance thirty years ago."
Michael’s shoulders shook as a dry sob escaped his chest.
"I didn't have a choice, Grace."
"I was twenty-nine years old, ranked third in the nation, and ready for a title shot."
"Then two men in dark coats came to my training gym."
"They brought photographs of your mother, Mary, and her brother, Robert."
Grace took a step forward.
"Uncle Robert?"
"Robert was working as a personal driver for Antonio Moretti back then," Michael whispered.
"The Morettis and the Vales were preparing for a massive internal purge."
"Julian Vale told me that if I didn't lose that fight in the tenth round, Robert and Mary would never leave the city alive."
"So I took the fall."
"I let Tommy Vance break my ribs and fracture my lumbar vertebrae."
Michael looked up, tears streaming down his hollow cheeks.
"Julian Vale gave me fifty thousand dollars in cash and told me to disappear into the trade unions."
"I used that money to pay for your mother's cancer treatments years later."
"When the money ran out, my spine was already degenerating."
"I couldn't work."
"Frank Dalton came to me six months ago offering a loan."
"He told me he was an old friend who wanted to help."
"I didn't know he was going to force you into that ring, Grace."
"I swear on your mother's grave, I didn't know."
Grace dropped to her knees beside her father's chair, tears finally spilling over her lashes.
"You should have told me, Dad."
"I would have worked three jobs."
"I would have cleaned every floor in this city."
"You shouldn't have let Frank put his claws into our lives."
Before Michael could answer, the screech of tires echoed from the street outside.
Dominic’s lead operative, Thomas, stepped to the curtain and parted the fabric by an inch.
"Two black SUVs just pulled up to the curb, Boss."
"Six men."
"Heavy coats, concealed weapons."
Dominic did not panic.
"Is Frank Dalton with them?"
"He is in the lead passenger seat."
Dominic turned to Grace and her father.
"Stay down behind the brick hearth."
"Thomas, do not fire unless they draw iron."
"I want Dalton breathing."
The front door was kicked off its hinges with a splintering crash.
Two enforcers in leather jackets stepped through the doorway, guns drawn.
Before they could raise their barrels, Thomas and Dominic’s men moved with lethal, military precision.
Thomas drove the butt of his weapon into the first man’s sternum, dropping him instantly to the floorboards.
The second man was pinned against the wall, his wrist twisted until his firearm clattered onto the linoleum.
Dominic stepped over the groaning enforcer on the floor and walked onto the small porch.
Frank Dalton was halfway up the wooden stairs, his eyes widening in pure horror as he realized his men had been neutralized in four seconds.
Dominic grabbed Dalton by the lapels of his leather jacket and slammed him against the exterior brick wall.
"Where is your promotional contract now, Frank?"
Dalton gasped for air, his face turning purple under Dominic’s grip.
"You don't understand, Vale!"
"I'm just a broker!"
"I work for people who have more money than your entire family!"
Dominic tightened his grip, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper.
"You threatened an employee who works under my personal protection."
"You extorted a crippled veteran."
"Give me the ledger, Frank, or Thomas will take you down to the harbor and find out how long you can hold your breath."
Dalton began trembling violently.
"It's in the car!"
"The black briefcase under the back seat!"
Thomas retrieved the leather briefcase from the SUV and brought it to Dominic.
Inside was an encrypted laptop and a thick, handwritten paper ledger dating back four decades.
Dominic flipped through the recent entries until his eyes stopped on a transfer dated three days ago.
A payment of one hundred thousand dollars to Frank Dalton's gym account.
The authorizing account was held by an offshore entity in the Cayman Islands.
And the account beneficiary was listed under a single, chilling name:
Victor Moretti.
Dominic closed the ledger with a sharp snap and looked down at the trembling promoter.
"Victor Moretti is paying you to keep Michael Carter terrified?"
Dalton choked out the truth:
"Victor wants Michael dead before the anniversary of the fight."
"He said Michael is the only living witness who knows where the original payoff money went."
Dominic shoved Dalton toward his security team.
May you like
"Put him in the trunk."
"We are going north."
