Chapter 18 - The Midnight Deposition
Within three hours, Il Canto’s VIP dining room had been transformed into an impromptu federal war room.
Four black Suburbans with legitimate Department of Justice credentials sat outside the front entrance. Marco stood guard at the front doors alongside two federal marshals sent directly from the regional headquarters in Milwaukee—men outside Kathryn Reyes’s sphere of influence.
At the head of the long mahogany table sat Marcus Vance. He looked like an older, sharper version of my father, with iron-gray hair cut close to the scalp and cold, piercing blue eyes that missed nothing.
On the table between us sat Julian’s open laptop, connected to a secure government satellite terminal. The digital files were flashing across the screen in green-and-white cascades: wire transfers totaling over eighty million dollars, routed through fake shell corporations based in Panama, all bearing the digital signature of Judge-Nominee Kathryn Reyes.
"She thought she was untouchable," Marcus Vance said, his gravelly voice filled with quiet fury. "Sterling was funneling fifteen percent of the illicit maritime proceeds directly into Reyes's blind judicial trusts. In exchange, she quashed nine separate federal warrants against Vance & Sons' shipping lanes over a four-year period."
"Julian found the anomaly in the fuel excise taxes," I explained, turning the pages of my brother’s notebook. "Look here. He cross-referenced the weight of the tankers entering Slip Nine with the diesel displacement logs. The ships were riding six inches lower than the cargo manifests reported. He knew they were carrying high-density liquid chemicals."
Marcus closed the notebook with a heavy snap. "This isn't just bribery. This is domestic treason and conspiracy to commit murder. Julian documented his own death threats."
He tapped a scanned document on the screen. It was an email, sent from an encrypted server six hours before Julian disappeared.
*If I don't sign the transfer manifest by midnight, Reyes’s enforcer says Slip Nine gets drained.*
The room fell dead silent.
Beatrice sat at the far end of the table, her tea cup resting untouched on its saucer. She watched Marcus Vance’s face, reading the tension in his lips, the set of his jaw.
Then her hands moved across the table, catching everyone’s attention.
*The courier,* she signed.
I looked at Gabriel. "Navarro's drop. What happened at the loading dock?"
Gabriel checked his watch. "Navarro delivered the decoy binder forty minutes ago. Reyes’s courier took the bait. Marco’s scouts followed him straight to an executive suite at the Drake Hotel."
Marcus Vance stood up, buttoning his charcoal suit jacket. "The Drake? That’s where Reyes is hosting her pre-confirmation victory reception tonight."
"She thinks she has Julian's hard drive," I said, a cold resolve taking over every nerve in my body. "She thinks she’s walking into her federal appointment next week with no loose ends."
"Then let’s give her the reception she deserves," Gabriel said, offering his hand to his mother.
Beatrice took it, rising from her chair with the poise of an empress. She looked at me, her hands forming two quick, decisive signs:
May you like
*Dress up.*
***
