Chapter 4 - SECRETS BENEATH THE FLOORBOARDS
The voice on the line belonged to Marcus Vance.
Vincent’s head of security.
The man who carried a gun in his shoulder holster everywhere he went.
“How did you find this number, Marcus?” I asked, keeping my voice terrifyingly calm.
“The boss traced the rental car GPS within ten minutes of entering the county, Claire,” Marcus panted.
“A strike team is already five miles away from your location.”
“Let them come,” I said.
“You don't understand,” Marcus lowered his voice to a desperate whisper.
“Vincent isn't just angry.”
“He’s losing his mind.”
“He smashed every antique in the master bedroom with a golf club.”
“He’s threatening to burn down half of Chicago if you aren't returned to him by midnight.”
I leaned back in the wooden chair, staring out at the pine trees.
“Let him burn it down,” I replied.
“He can't touch me, Marcus.”
“You think you’re safe out there in the woods?” Marcus scoffed bitterly.
“Vincent controls every sheriff, every mayor, and every thug between here and the Canadian border.”
“He knows about the USB drive.”
“He knows you downloaded the master ledger.”
“If his men catch you, they won't take you back to Lake Forest.”
“They’ll bury you where the snow never melts.”
Silence stretched between us over the encrypted line.
I could hear Marcus’s heavy breathing echoing through the phone.
“Why are you calling me, Marcus?” I asked softly.
“You’ve been loyal to Vincent for twelve years.”
“Why warn his runaway wife?”
Marcus let out a harsh, exhausted laugh.
“Because I have a daughter in college, Claire.”
“And I saw the offshore folders on your drive before Vincent locked the master console.”
“You have accounts in the Cayman Islands under my name, don't you?”
I didn't answer immediately.
I opened a folder on my screen.
Marcus_Vance_Fallguy_Fund.pdf.
“Yes, Marcus,” I said quietly.
“Vincent set you up to take the fall for the federal indictments coming next month.”
“He was going to hand you over to the FBI as the mastermind of the entire laundering ring.”
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the phone.
“The bastard,” Marcus whispered.
“He promised me a pension.”
“He promised you a prison cell,” I corrected him.
“So here is my counteroffer, Marcus.”
“Bring me the original physical ledger from Vincent’s office safe.”
“The one with his signature in red ink.”
“Bring it to me before midnight.”
“And I’ll clear your name completely from the federal files.”
May you like
“Refuse, and you go down right beside him when I drop this data package at the Department of Justice tomorrow morning.”
The line went dead with a sharp click.
