Chapter 9 - The Key to the Ghost's Inheritance
The private jet climbed steeply through the grey Chicago cloud cover, banking sharply toward the east as it leveled off at thirty thousand feet.
Inside the wood-paneled cabin of the Gulfstream, the atmosphere was thick with the silent tension of a military war room.
Lorenzo sat across from Evelyn at a mahogany conference table, reviewing the physical cassette tapes and financial ledgers they had recovered from the silo basement.
"These cassette tapes are analog master recordings," Lorenzo explained, tapping his finger against the edge of a plastic cassette shell.
"They cannot be altered or doctored digitally."
"They capture every word of the phone conversations between Judge Harrison Brooks and Julian Vane regarding the weapons shipments and the cover-up of your father's audit."
Evelyn looked out the small oval window, watching the endless sea of white clouds roll beneath them like an ocean of snow.
"Julian is still locked in our warehouse in Cicero," Evelyn said, her voice completely devoid of emotion.
"And Judge Brooks is scheduled to preside over the federal grand jury hearing against your family's shipping lines tomorrow morning at ten o'clock."
"He thinks he is about to sign the final confiscation order against your assets."
A slow, wolfish smile spread across Lorenzo’s face.
"Judge Brooks has spent twenty years using his judicial robe as a shield for the city's most ruthless criminals," Lorenzo said softly.
"Tomorrow morning, he is going to walk into his own courtroom thinking he is executing a final judgment."
"Instead, he is going to walk into a federal trap."
"Paul has already transmitted digitized copies of these cassette logs to the United States Attorney General's office in Washington through a secure backchannel."
"Federal marshals are currently securing the perimeter of the federal courthouse in downtown Chicago."
"By the time Brooks steps onto the bench tomorrow, he won't even have a gavel left to bang."
Evelyn turned her head from the window, meeting Lorenzo’s dark, intense gaze.
"I want to be in that courtroom, Lorenzo," she said, her voice dropping into a register of absolute, unyielding resolve.
"I want to sit in the gallery when they read the charges against the man who signed my father's death warrant."
Lorenzo reached across the mahogany table, covering her hand with his own large, warm palm.
May you like
"You won't just be sitting in the gallery, little bird," Lorenzo murmured, his thumb brushing over her knuckles.
"You will be the one who hands the evidence to the federal prosecutor."
