Chapter 14 - The Measure of a Seat
The silence in the empty slip was heavier than the water that had filled it an hour before.
Gabriel didn't lower his gun. His jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched beneath his cheek. "Kathryn Reyes isn't on the federal bench. She’s the lead prosecutor assigned to Sterling’s grand jury."
"She’s both," Navarro spat bitterly. "Nominated for the Seventh Circuit bench three weeks ago. Her confirmation hearing is next Tuesday. Do you think a woman rises through the Justice Department on clean convictions alone? Sterling financed her campaign ten years ago when she was just a Cook County state attorney. She didn't just look the other way for Vance & Sons—she orchestrated the jurisdiction handoffs!"
I stepped down the final rung of the ladder, my boots splashing into the puddle of chemical residue around the timber blocks.
"Reyes was at Il Canto two weeks ago," I realized aloud, memories clicking into place like tumblers in a lock. "She sat at Table Four with the deputy mayor. She ordered the Dover sole, and she never looked up from her briefing binders."
"She wasn't looking at binders, Maya," Gabriel said, his tone chillingly flat. "She was watching Beatrice. My mother reads lips better than any federal surveillance team in the state. Reyes wanted to know if Beatrice had figured out why the indictment against Sterling was missing five critical shipping manifests."
"And did she?" I asked.
"My mother doesn't miss a ledger entry," Gabriel said. He turned his attention back to Navarro. "Where is the courier?"
"He’s parked at the commercial loading dock across from the restaurant," Navarro confessed, entirely broken. "I was supposed to pull Julian's hard drive from the sealed chamber, burn the physical paper logs, and hand the digital drive to him by three in the morning. If I missed the drop, the call goes through to the staging van outside Il Canto."
My stomach dropped out. "My father is sitting in your SUV right now, Gabriel. Marco is there, but Beatrice is alone in the restaurant with the closing staff."
"Il Canto has a security detail of eight men," Gabriel said, but for the first time, I heard a razor-thin edge of doubt in his voice. "Nobody breaches that dining room."
"Unless they’re wearing federal marshals' badges," Navarro whispered. "Reyes has a sealed emergency warrant for Il Canto’s wine cellar. She signed it herself an hour ago, claiming Sterling hid offshore transaction papers in your private vault. If they go in under color of federal law, your men can't shoot without starting an open war with the Department of Justice."
Gabriel pulled out his phone. He dialed Marco.
"Marco," Gabriel said into the receiver. "Do not move Arthur. Lock down the SUV. Tell me what you see on the perimeter."
A crackle of static came over the line, followed by Marco’s sharp intake of breath.
*"Boss. Three unmarked Crown Victorias just pulled up to the front entrance of Il Canto. Federal plates. They aren't knocking. They're cutting the chains on the alley gate."*
Gabriel looked down at the welded hatch of the container, then at me.
We had thirty minutes before the evidence that could avenge my brother was either incinerated or buried forever by a corrupt federal prosecutor. And fifty blocks south, the only family Gabriel had left was about to be walked out in handcuffs—or in body bags.
May you like
"Gabriel," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline roaring in my veins. "Get Navarro's torch."
***
