Chapter 9 - The Truth on the Hard DriveThe heavy steel door of the wall safe swung open with a pneumatic hiss, revealing stacks of cash, passports, and a single, small silver hard drive resting on a velvet tray.
Dominic Vance knelt on the floor, weeping openly, clutching his shattered wrist against his ribs as blood dripped onto the Persian rug.
Roman reached out, picking up the hard drive with steady fingers. He tossed it across the desk to Mara.
"Plug it into the terminal over there," Roman instructed.
Mara crossed the room, sliding the drive into the USB port of Dominic’s secure desktop workstation. A command prompt flickered on the massive curved monitor, followed by a decrypted audio folder labeled Falconee_Internal_03.
"Play file 03-B," Roman said.
Mara clicked the mouse.
The audio crackled to life through the surround-sound speakers of the study. A voice filled the room—clear, desperate, and unmistakably Luca Falconee.
"Roman, if you’re listening to this, it means Julian and Dominic got to you first. I didn't skim the union funds. Look at the secondary ledger in the offshore account—they’re routing the money through shell companies in Zurich to buy out the port authority. I tried to stop them, Roman. They’re coming for you next..."
The recording cut off with the sound of a muffled struggle and a single, echoing gunshot.
The silence that followed was absolute.
Roman closed his eyes. The weight of three years of guilt, betrayal, and manufactured grief settled over his shoulders like an iron yoke. He didn't cry. Men like Roman Falconee didn't have the luxury of tears. They only had accounts to settle.
He turned his gaze back down to Dominic Vance, who was shaking violently on the floor.
"You killed my brother," Roman said softly. "Not because he betrayed the family. But because he was the only one smart enough to catch you stealing from it."
"Roman... please," Dominic choked out, tears streaming down his face. "We were partners. We built this city together—"
"No," Roman interrupted, raising his pistol. "I built this city. You were just a parasite feeding on the foundation."
He didn't pull the trigger.
Instead, the heavy oak doors of the study pushed open. Footsteps echoed in the hallway—not the heavy, hurried steps of enforcers, but the measured, authoritative tramp of heavy boots.
State Police Captain Miller stepped into the room, flanked by six armed federal agents, their badges gleaming under the gallery lights. Miller took one look at Dominic bleeding on the floor, the open safe, and the decrypted audio file glowing on the computer monitor.
"Well, Mr. Falconee," Captain Miller said, resting his hand casually on his holster. "Looks like you’ve been busy cleaning house."
May you like
Roman lowered his pistol, placing it gently on the edge of the mahogany desk. He looked at Mara, who stood by the computer terminal, the shotgun resting casually across her shoulder, her jaw set with a quiet, fierce triumph.
"Just tying up loose ends, Captain," Roman said.
