Chapter 3 - The Audit of the Consigliere
By 7:00 AM, the flight to Chicago was permanently canceled.
The master study on the second floor of the Manhattan townhouse was sealed under executive security protocol.
Frank Callahan, Vincent’s chief forensic auditor and private intelligence counsel, sat at the long mahogany conference table alongside two federal cyber-specialists who had worked covertly for Vincent for a decade.
Sophie sat on the plush velvet chesterfield sofa beside the fireplace, happily coloring in a new sketchbook Mrs. Gable had provided, eating warm blueberry pancakes while her stuffed rabbit sat propped up against a glass of orange juice.
Vincent stood behind his desk, dressed in a sharp black three-piece suit, his overcoat discarded, his sleeves rolled to his forearms.
"Run the corporate audit on the safe deposit box on 44th Street, Frank," Vincent commanded. "Cross-reference the registration logs with Anthony Ricci’s private trust accounts in Zurich."
Frank Callahan tapped his mechanical keyboard with blistering speed. The seventy-inch wall monitor illuminated with high-resolution banking flowcharts and encrypted property deeds.
"Julian’s tape was accurate down to the dollar, Vincent," Frank reported, his voice grim. "On November 12, 2022—three days before Julian’s crash on Route 9—Anthony Ricci opened an offshore holding entity in the Cayman Islands named Apex Maritime Acquisitions. Forty-eight hours after Julian’s death, Anthony used forged executive proxies to reassign forty percent of the Marlo deep-water container berths in Brooklyn to that entity."
Frank rotated the tablet, displaying a high-resolution forensic report from the New York State Police crash investigation file.
"Look at the secondary mechanical inspection log," Frank said. "The original state trooper noted that the hydraulic brake line on Julian’s sedan had been severed with an industrial pneumatic shear. But the report was suppressed twelve hours later by former Police Commissioner Arthur Vance—who received a two-million-dollar wire transfer from Anthony’s shell account the following Monday."
Vincent’s jaw tightened until the bone beneath his skin looked ready to splinter.
"Anthony didn't just want Julian dead," Vincent realized, his slate-gray eyes burning with sub-zero ice. "Anthony knew that Julian was the only person who understood the financial telemetry of our maritime network. With Julian gone, Anthony spent four years preparing to liquidate my entire family empire from the inside."
The private intercom on the desk chimed twice.
Mrs. Gable’s voice came through the speaker: "Mr. Marlo. Mr. Anthony Ricci has arrived for the morning strategy briefing. He is waiting in the first-floor reception salon."
Vincent looked across the room at Sophie, who looked up from her coloring book and smiled, holding up a bright red crayon.
May you like
Vincent’s expression softened for a fraction of a second before hardening into an immovable wall of granite.
"Tell Anthony to come up to the library," Vincent said softly into the intercom. "And tell Marco to lock the front doors."
