Chapter 4 - The First Blood
By 8:00 AM the following morning, the front page of the Boston Daily displayed a massive photograph of Lucian leading me out of Saint Jude’s Cathedral under the headline:
THE MAFIA KING CLAIMS THE SCORNED BRIDE: VALE EMPIRE IN TURMOIL
Inside the penthouse office, the television screen showed a live broadcast from the front steps of Vale Logistics headquarters downtown.
A crowd of reporters was surrounding Adrian Vale as he tried to push his way toward his private town car. His suit was wrinkled, his eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like a man who hadn't slept a single second.
“Mr. Vale!” a female reporter shouted, thrusting a microphone toward his face. “Is it true that Moretti International has canceled all shipping contracts with your firm as of midnight?”
“Mr. Vale! Do you have a comment on the sudden drop in your stock price following allegations of financial irregularities?”
Adrian slammed his car door shut without answering, the dark tint hiding his furious face as the car sped away into traffic.
I sat at Lucian’s desk, sipping black coffee while my fingers flew across the keyboard of an encrypted laptop.
Beside me, Lucian stood watching the monitor, a subtle, cold smile playing on his lips.
“Your work is fast, Elena,” Lucian remarked, looking down at the screens showing two separate financial databases running side-by-side.
“I spent six months living in Adrian’s house, watching him log into his private server every Tuesday night at 2:00 AM,” I explained without looking up. “He thought I was sleeping. He thought because I was an accountant from a small firm, I wouldn't understand the complex routing codes he used to hide offshore transfers in Panama.”
I hit the Enter key. A red progress bar on the screen turned green, opening a master spreadsheet containing six years of complete transaction records for the Vale Charitable Foundation.
“Look here,” I said, pointing at a column marked Project Horizon. “This isn't medical aid for impoverished children. These are monthly payments of two hundred thousand dollars sent to a dummy corporation registered in the Cayman Islands under the name ‘Vanguard Holdings’.”
Lucian leaned over my shoulder, his chest touching my back, his scent of sandalwood and cold ozone enveloping my senses. His large hand rested on the back of my leather chair, his fingers close to my neck.
“Vanguard Holdings belongs to Camille Vale’s brother,” Lucian murmured, his deep voice vibrating right against my ear. “They were using the foundation to siphon non-profit donations into political campaign funds for her husband.”
“It’s tax fraud, wire fraud, and embezzlement,” I said, turning my head to look at him. Our faces were inches apart. I could see the tiny flecks of gold in his dark eyes. “If I submit this to the Internal Revenue Service and the Federal Prosecutors today, Adrian’s foundation will be frozen by nightfall.”
May you like
Lucian reached out, his long fingers gently catching a strand of my dark hair and tucking it behind my ear. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt of pure electricity straight down my spine.
“Not yet, my sweet,” Lucian whispered. “If you strike now, they bleed slowly. I want them ruined completely before they even realize where the blow came from.”
