201 She Collapsed In Front Of Eleven Mafia Bosses To Expose Her Corrupt Cop Husband—Only To Realize She Was The Mastermind Playing Them All

Adeline stepped out of the granite shadows of the mausoleum into the pale, misty daylight.

Two men in black tactical jackets stood at the foot of the marble steps, their hands resting on suppressed handguns holstered at their hips. Behind them, standing near the gravel path beside a sleek black Lincoln Town Car, was Catherine Ward.

Beside Ward, standing on the gravel with his arms folded across his chest, was Marcus.

He had showered and changed into a dark wool coat. He looked every bit the formidable police detective he had been before dawn, except for the cold, hollow emptiness in his eyes. He didn't look at Adeline; he looked at the gravel between his boots.

"You really shouldn't have gone to the cemetery, Adeline," Ward said, her voice smooth and devoid of animosity. "I offered you two million dollars and a clean flight out of Logan. You could have been in Lisbon by midnight."

"You weren't going to let me leave, Catherine," Adeline said, descending the stone steps slowly, the oilcloth roll held securely under her left arm. "Julian’s confession named you. You were Eleanor’s corporate counsel in ninety-four when the Pier 44 vaults were excavated. You helped her draft the Vance Trust."

Ward smiled faintly, tilting her head. "I was twenty-six years old, fresh out of Harvard Law, and hungry for influence. Eleanor Vance built this city's modern infrastructure while the men in the mayor's office were busy arguing over parking meters. She understood power. She made me an Assistant District Attorney before I was thirty-five."

"And what did she make Marcus?" Adeline asked, turning her gaze directly toward her husband. "A guard dog? A pawn to be thrown away the moment the feds started asking questions?"

Marcus looked up, his jaw clenching hard. "Shut up, Addie."

"You told me to come here, Marcus," Adeline said, stepping closer, ignoring the two armed men who shifted their stance. "You sent me to the vault. You told me the key was in the watch. Did you set this up? Did you trade me to Catherine so you could walk out of Suffolk County on bail?"

Marcus didn't answer immediately. He looked at Ward, then back at Adeline.

"You didn't leave when you had the chance," Marcus said, his voice flat, deadened. "I gave you three years, Addie. I kept you fed, I kept you in that house, I kept Miller away from your throat. All you had to do was be a good wife and let the old ghosts rest."

"You beat me against the kitchen counter three nights ago because I forgot to turn off the foyer light, Marcus," Adeline said, her voice cutting through the damp air like a razor. "Don't talk to me about keeping me safe. You caged me because looking at my face reminded you that you were too much of a coward to avenge Julian."

A muscle twitched violently in Marcus’s cheek. For a second, the savage fury that had defined their marriage threatened to break through his composed exterior.

"Enough," Ward commanded, raising a gloved hand. "The blueprints, Adeline. Hand them over, along with Julian’s ledger. We have an operational sweep scheduled for Pier 44 at sunset, and I need the title documents sealed before the federal task force files their injunction."

"Where is Elias?" Adeline asked, refusing to move.

Ward gestured slightly with her head toward the perimeter wall. "Mr. Elias is tied to the rear bumper of a State Police cruiser by the main gate. Unconscious, but alive. How long he stays that way depends entirely on how quickly you hand over that oilcloth."

Adeline looked at the two armed men, then at Marcus, and finally at Catherine Ward.

She slowly lowered the oilcloth roll from beneath her arm, extending it forward with both hands.

"Take it," Adeline said softly.

One of the tactical guards stepped forward, reaching out to take the blueprints.

As his fingers brushed the oilcloth, Adeline twisted her right wrist. The heavy steel pen she had retrieved from Arthur's workshop slid from her sleeve into her palm. With a single, explosive, practiced motion, she drove the hardened tungsten tip directly into the soft meat of the guard’s forearm, twisting hard as she hooked her foot behind his ankle.

The guard screamed, his suppressed weapon clattering onto the gravel.