Chapter 6 - The Unseen Witness
Twenty minutes later, the private elevator chimed twice.
Salvatore stepped out of the car, flanked by two armed enforcers in tailored charcoal suits, dragging a disheveled, pale Dr. Alistair Vance between them. Vance was still wearing his white lab coat over his pajamas, his hair wildly out of place, his eyes wide with absolute terror as he realized where he had been brought.
"Adrian!" Vance shrieked, stumbling forward onto the marble floor before Salvatore shoved him down onto his knees beside Derek. "Adrian, please! It was a mistake! Derek forced me—he said if I didn't cooperate, your syndicate would—"
"Save the performance, Alistair," I said, walking over to the desk and picking up the black leather ledger. I tossed it onto the floor right in front of him.
Vance’s eyes dropped to the book. He froze, the color draining from his face until he looked like a corpse. His signature was on page forty-two, authorizing the transfer of three hundred thousand dollars from a shell company registered under his mother's maiden name.
"You signed your name in ink, Alistair," I said quietly, leaning against the edge of the desk. "In my world, ink is permanent. But blood is louder."
Salvatore stepped forward, pulling a pair of heavy zip-ties from his jacket pocket. Without a word, he bound Derek’s and Vance’s hands behind their backs, hauling them both upright with brutal efficiency. Vanessa remained curled on the sofa, too paralyzed by shock and terror to even crawl toward the door.
"Take them down to the basement garage," I instructed Salvatore. "Put Vance in the trunk of his own car and drive him straight to the federal prosecutor's drop box in the Loop with page forty-two highlighted in yellow. As for Derek... lock him in the C-block safehouse in Cicero until I decide what to do with his inheritance."
"And the woman?" Salvatore asked, his dark eyes shifting momentarily toward Vanessa, who began to sob uncontrollably.
"Leave her," I said coldly. "She can keep the empty penthouse. It’s all she ever really wanted anyway."
Salvatore nodded once, grabbed Derek by the collar of his ruined shirt, and dragged him toward the elevator. Vance was pushed along behind him, blubbering incoherently into the rain-streaked night air.
As the elevator doors closed, sealing them away, the penthouse fell into a profound, heavy silence.
The storm outside began to ease, the howling wind dropping to a steady, rhythmic patter of rain against the glass.
I turned around.
Standing quietly near the edge of the private study, holding her rolling cleaning cart with both hands, was Nina.
She hadn't left with Salvatore. She hadn't tried to slip out while the guards were busy hauling my traitors away. She had simply stood there in the shadows, watching the entire empire restructure itself in real-time, her expression completely unreadable.
"You didn't go down with the others," I said, walking slowly across the room toward her.
May you like
"My shift isn't over yet, Mr. Whitmore," she replied quietly, her voice steady and calm. "There's still a broken wine glass on the floor near the sofa. And I don't leave a room half-cleaned."
A slow, genuine smile—the first one I had smiled in ten years of paranoia, bloodshed, and power struggles—spread across my face.
