Chapter 11 - The Buried Truth in the Old Black-and-White Photograph
Thirty minutes after Natasha’s threatening call, Marcus Kane and Diane Foster met Simone inside a secure briefing room at Marcus’s private intelligence headquarters.
“Simone, you cannot go to that pier alone,” Diane urged, her face tight with worry. “Natasha is cornered, desperate, and completely unhinged. She’s working with violent mob enforcers who have nothing left to lose.”
“I’m not going alone,” Simone replied, turning to Marcus. “Marcus, is the federal tactical strike team ready?”
Marcus nodded, pulling up satellite surveillance feeds of the 9th Street shipping pier. “Special Agent Miller from the FBI White-Collar and Organized Crime Division has twenty undercover tactical units surrounding the entire perimeter. Thermal drones are already in position. Viktor Voronin and his enforcers will be intercepted the moment they enter the port gates.”
Marcus then placed an old intelligence dossier on the table.
“We ran full facial recognition on the twenty-five-year-old Swiss photograph you found in Arthur’s safe,” Marcus explained. “Natasha’s father was Nikolai Chin, the primary money launderer for the Voronin crime syndicate. Twenty-five years ago, Arthur Blake tried to cut ties with them. Nikolai Chin blackmailed Arthur, threatening to expose Arthur’s early shipping irregularities unless Arthur agreed to let Natasha marry Harrison when they came of age.”
Simone’s eyes widened slightly as the final puzzle pieces locked into place.
“Arthur knew Natasha would destroy the family,” Simone murmured. “That’s why Arthur secretly backed Harrison’s marriage to me seven years ago. Arthur wanted a woman of integrity and strength to protect the empire from the syndicate. And that’s why Arthur wrote Clause 22 into the prenup. He knew that if Natasha ever seduced Harrison, the entire empire would pass legally to me to keep it out of the syndicate’s hands.”
“Arthur knew you were the only one strong enough to beat them,” Diane said with deep respect.
Suddenly, Simone gasped, clutching the lower curve of her stomach. A sharp, intense contraction rippled across her abdomen.
Diane rushed to her side. “Simone! Are you okay?!”
Simone took deep, measured breaths, her knuckles gripping the back of the chair until the pain subsided.
“Braxton Hicks contractions,” Simone whispered, wiping a bead of sweat from her forehead. “The baby is reacting to the stress. But she’s holding on. And so am I.”
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Simone looked at Marcus with fierce, unyielding determination.
“Marcus, mobilize the FBI. We are finishing this tonight once and for all.”
