Chapter 6 - The Trap is SprungI froze, my fingers hovering over the touchpad as the secure terminal alert blinked insistently.
Gabriel straightened up instantly, his hand dropping to the grip of his sidearm. He rounded the kitchen island in two long strides and stood directly behind my shoulder, his dark eyes fixed on the glowing screen.
"Open it," Gabriel ordered quietly.
I clicked the notification. A live video feed popped up on the encrypted display, buffering for a split second before resolving into high-definition clarity.
Julian Vance sat in what looked like a high-end penthouse overlooking the Chicago skyline, swirling amber liquid in a crystal tumbler. He looked impeccably dressed in a tailored navy suit, looking every bit the respected corporate executive—except for the cold, predatory smile playing across his lips.
“Good evening, Claire,” Vance’s voice echoed through the laptop’s speakers, smooth and unhurried. “I see you survived the warehouse. Color me impressed. I always knew you were sharper than your cardigans suggested.”
Gabriel stepped closer to the camera, his silhouette falling across the screen. “Julian.”
The smile on Vance’s face faltered for a fraction of a second before hardening into pure venom. “Ah, Gabriel. I was wondering when you’d figure it out. Did your little accountant hand you the decrypted ledger yet? Did you see where all your shiny construction funds went?”
“You’re stealing from my family,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into that terrifying, icy register that made my blood run cold. “You’re signing your own death sentence.”
“Death sentence?” Vance laughed softly, taking a sip from his glass. “Gabriel, please. Let's look at the board realistically. You have the baby. You have the accountant. But you don't have the leverage. Your primary Swiss accounts are currently being frozen by federal regulators as we speak, courtesy of the digital paper trail I left pointing straight at your syndicate.”
I leaned forward, my fingers dancing across the keyboard despite the bandages on my hand. “You didn't route those transactions through Switzerland, Julian. You routed them through a shell company in the Cayman Islands that you registered under your maiden name—your mother’s maiden name: DeLuca.”
The color instantly drained from Vance’s face on the screen. The smooth, arrogant facade shattered.
“What did you say?” Vance hissed, slamming his glass down on the desk.
“You thought you covered your tracks by pointing the finger at the Russian Bratva,” I said, my voice steady and cold as I locked eyes with the camera. “But you forgot that third-party wire transfers under one hundred twenty thousand dollars require secondary state tax authorization stamps. I have the digital signatures right here. You’ve been embezzling from the Kane Corporation for five years, long before Gabriel’s brother died.”
Gabriel slowly turned his head to look at me, absolute awe flashing in his dark eyes beneath the cold fury.
Vance stared at the screen, panting slightly, his composure completely gone. “You bitch,” he spat. “You absolute little nobody accountant—you’ve ruined everything.”
“The meeting is over, Julian,” Gabriel said calmly, leaning down to the microphone. “Don't bother running. Chicago is my city. Every street, every dock, every airport belongs to me.”
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“You think I'm running?” Vance sneered, a manic glint appearing in his eyes. “I didn't call to negotiate, Gabriel. I called to tell you that your little safe house in Evanston? It’s currently surrounded by three tactical teams carrying heavy ordinance. You have ten minutes to walk out and hand over the micro-SD card... or I turn that house into a crater.”
The video feed abruptly cut to black.
