Chapter 12 - The Devil in SolitaryIf you want to track a ghost, you have to ask the person who originally summoned it.
FCI Victorville is a maximum-security federal penitentiary rising out of the Mojave Desert like a concrete tomb. It houses the most dangerous, high-profile inmates in the country. It was exactly where Eleanor Mercer had ended up after her plea deal fell apart.
Seventy-two hours after the bullet was left on my driveway, I sat in the sterile, soundproof visitation booth of the prison. Nora was hundreds of miles away, secured in an off-the-grid bunker with my brother Caleb and a team of elite mercenaries. My mind was clear. My focus was absolute.
The heavy steel door on the other side of the plexiglass buzzed open.
Two armed guards escorted Eleanor Mercer into the booth. The untouchable matriarch who had once threatened to throw me onto the street in a Chanel suit was entirely unrecognizable. She wore a faded orange jumpsuit. Her silver hair, once perfectly coiffed, was a messy, tangled knot. Her face was gaunt, bruised, and her eyes were wide with a frantic, suffocating paranoia.
She sat down on the metal stool, her shackled hands trembling as she picked up the phone.
I picked up my receiver. "Hello, Eleanor."
"You," she hissed, her voice a raspy, broken croak. "You did this to me. You put me in this hellhole."
"You put yourself here when you decided to prey on my family," I corrected her smoothly. "But I didn't come to gloat. I came to ask about the Vanguard Coalition."
Eleanor’s face went dead white. She physically recoiled from the glass, her eyes darting frantically toward the security cameras in the corners of the room.
"I don't know what you're talking about," she stammered, her voice shaking violently.
"Don't lie to me, Eleanor. They found me," I said, leaning closer to the glass, projecting an aura of terrifying calm. "They want the 1.2 billion dollars the FBI seized from your accounts. They think I have the encryption keys. I need a name. Who is running Vanguard’s domestic operations?"
Eleanor began to weep silently, pressing her forehead against the plexiglass. "If I say his name, they will kill me. They have guards on their payroll inside this prison, David. They’ve already beaten me twice in the shower block. I’m a dead woman walking."
"You are a dead woman walking either way," I pointed out without a shred of pity. "But if you give me a name and a location, I will have my lawyers draft an emergency protective transfer. I will get you moved to a federal witness protection wing in a different state. You give me the head of the snake, and I will buy you a few more years of breathing."
She looked up at me, weighing her absolute hatred for me against her raw, primal instinct to survive.
"His name is Victor Kael," Eleanor choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "He doesn't operate out of an office. He runs a private, high-stakes underground casino on a superyacht anchored in international waters off the coast of Miami. It’s called The Sovereign."
I memorized the name, my mind already calculating the tactical approach.
"He’s a monster, David," Eleanor cried, pressing her shackled hands against the glass. "He’s former Spetsnaz. He doesn't negotiate. If you go near that yacht, he will slaughter you, and then he will slaughter your daughter."
"I appreciate the concern, Eleanor," I said, standing up and buttoning my suit jacket. "But Victor Kael has never met a father who has nothing left to lose."
"Wait!" Eleanor screamed as I turned to leave. "The transfer! You promised you would get me transferred!"
I paused at the door, glancing back over my shoulder at the ruined billionaire.
May you like
"I lied," I said softly.
I hung up the phone and walked out of the prison, leaving her terrified, echoing screams trapped inside the concrete walls. I had my target. It was time to go to Miami.
