Chapter 7 - THE REFUGEE IN THE SHADOWS
The rain began to fall again by midnight.
A cold, biting drizzle that turned the industrial docks into a labyrinth of black puddles.
Vincent sat in the back of an unmarked town car parked near Pier 42.
He looked unrecognizable.
His expensive suit was wrinkled; his hair fell across his forehead in damp strands.
The mighty Moretti empire had dissolved in less than forty-eight hours.
His phone buzzed on the seat beside him.
An encrypted burner line.
He picked it up.
“Speak,” Vincent commanded hoarsely.
“Boss, the federal agents raided the downtown vault,” a terrified voice reported.
“They took the physical ledgers. Everything is gone.”
“Who gave them the combination?” Vincent snarled.
“We... we don’t know. But rumor says Marcus Vance had the master keys.”
Vincent’s grip on the phone tightened until his knuckles turned white.
“Find Claire,” Vincent whispered, a dark, desperate madness creeping into his voice.
“If I’m going down, she comes with me.”
“Boss, she’s protected by federal marshals and Marcus's private detail. We can't get near her.”
“Find a way!” Vincent roared.
He hung up and tossed the phone onto the dashboard.
He stared out the rain-streaked window toward the dark waters of Lake Michigan.
He had given his wife fifteen minutes a day because he thought she was a permanent fixture in his life.
A decorative vase in his grand mansion.
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He never realized she was the foundation holding up the entire building.
And now that she had walked away, the roof was caving in on his head.
