Chapter 6 - THE DEADLY CONSPIRACY"Uncle Victor?" I stammered, my head spinning in wild circles. "What... what are you doing here?"
Victor smiled faintly, taking a slow sip of his scotch. "It's good to see you, Ryan. You look tired. The last five years haven't been kind to you, have they?"
The pieces began to violently collide in my head.
Five years ago, right before Emily's "accident," my uncle’s massive real estate firm had been hit with a massive federal audit involving fifty million dollars in offshore money laundering. Shortly after, Victor’s chief financial officer mysteriously vanished, and the charges were dropped due to a lack of evidence.
"It was you," I whispered, pointing an accusing finger at my uncle. "The money laundering. Emily wasn't just your niece-in-law... she was your co-conspirator."
"She was my genius," Victor corrected smoothly, walking over to stand beside Emily. He placed a heavy, possessive hand on her waist. "Your wife has an extraordinary talent for shell companies and untraceable banking networks, Ryan. When the feds started closing in five years ago, we needed a scapegoat. We needed someone to take the blame for the missing fifty million."
"And that was supposed to be Margaret," I said, realization dawning on me like a horrific nightmare.
"Bingo," Emily chimed in, leaning into Victor's side without a shred of shame. "My mother was dying of lung disease anyway. Victor paid her two million dollars off the books to sign corporate documents transferring the stolen money through her personal accounts in Maine. But when she died sooner than expected, we had to keep the bank accounts active until the federal statute of limitations expired."
"So you used me," I said, tears of pure betrayal burning my eyes. "You used my monthly transfers to keep Margaret's bank account legally 'active' in the system, so the bank wouldn't close it and trigger an automated audit of the offshore accounts!"
"Exactly," Victor smiled, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. "Your pathetic little three hundred dollars a month was the digital heartbeat that kept our fifty-million-dollar scam hidden from the IRS. A legal activity flag that kept the account from going dormant."
"You sick, twisted monsters," I spat, taking a step toward them. "I'm calling the police. I'm calling the FBI. You're both going to rot in a federal prison for the rest of your lives!"
I pulled my phone out of my pocket.
Before I could dial, Victor reached into his tuxedo jacket and pulled out a sleek, black semi-automatic pistol fitted with a thick suppressor.
May you like
He pointed it directly at my chest.
"I'm afraid you won't be making any calls, Ryan," Victor said softly. "You were supposed to stay in Ohio and keep crying over an empty grave. But since you insisted on playing detective... you're going to suffer the exact same fate as Emily’s mother."
