Chapter 7 - THE PHOTOGRAPH IN STERLING'S SAFE
7
Salvatore Moretti looked like someone had punched him.
“My father died ten years ago.”
Vincent stared at him.
“So did Anthony.”
Nobody needed to explain the problem.
Dead men had become unreliable in our story.
Agent Brooks replayed Daniel's video.
“The fifth partner was Carlo Moretti.”
Salvatore's father.
Daniel explained that Carlo had operated Great Lakes Hospitality.
Anthony Kane provided muscle.
David Sterling moved money.
Howard Voss provided protection.
Carlo controlled legal companies.
Together they created Lakefront.
Then something went wrong.
Anthony wanted more.
Carlo wanted out.
At least that was what Daniel believed.
The recording ended before he explained further.
Salvatore walked outside.
Vincent followed.
I tried to follow too.
Mom caught my hood.
“No.”
“But—”
“No.”
Adults were always stopping me right before important parts.
Twenty minutes later Vincent returned alone.
“Where's Salvatore?” Mom asked.
“Thinking.”
“Do you trust him?”
Vincent looked toward the door.
“With my life.”
Agent Brooks said, “That's not what she asked.”
Vincent understood.
“I don't know.”
That answer seemed to cost him something.
The flash drive contained one photograph taken inside David Sterling's home office.
A wall safe stood open.
Inside were bundles of cash.
Passports.
A silver revolver.
And another photograph.
Daniel had zoomed in.
Five men stood together at a charity gala.
Anthony Kane.
Carlo Moretti.
Howard Voss.
David Sterling.
And an alderman named Charles Brenton.
Agent Brooks swore softly.
Brenton was not merely an alderman.
He was now a state senator.
Suddenly the network wasn't only restaurants and police officers.
It reached politics.
Contracts.
City inspectors.
Labor agencies.
Court clerks.
Maybe judges.
Mom looked at Vincent.
“How big is this?”
“I don't know.”
“That's becoming your favorite answer.”
“I know.”
Agent Brooks began building a federal task force outside Chicago agencies.
No local warrants.
No local evidence storage.
No local databases unless necessary.
If Voss had spent years protecting the network, nobody knew who else was compromised.
Then a message arrived.
Rebecca Sterling's phone again.
Midnight.
Parking Level B4.
Bring the key.
Come alone.
Mom laughed without humor.
“They don't even know we already found what it opened.”
Vincent looked at the message.
“That's useful.”
Brooks nodded.
“If they believe the evidence is still hidden, we can control the exchange.”
“You're not sending Mia.”
“I know.”
Mom said, “Actually—”
“No.”
Vincent and Brooks said it together.
Mom folded her arms.
“Everyone needs to stop deciding things for me.”
Vincent replied, “You have a four-year-old daughter.”
“Four and a half,” I corrected.
Nobody looked at me.
Mom continued.
“My husband disappeared because people decided silence would protect me. I'm done being protected through ignorance.”
Agent Brooks studied her.
Then nodded.
“You don't go alone.”
That night, Mom wore a wire.
I stayed with a federal agent named Tara who gave me chocolate milk and pretended not to be nervous.
Vincent went separately.
Mercer was kept away because Rebecca was his sister and Brooks feared emotion would compromise him.
The parking garage was almost empty.
Mom walked toward Level B4 carrying an empty envelope.
A black sedan waited.
David Sterling stepped out.
His hair was messy.
His expensive suit was wrinkled.
He no longer looked like the man who had spun Porsche keys around his finger.
He looked hunted.
“Mia.”
“Where is Rebecca?”
“Give me the key.”
“Where is Rebecca?”
David laughed.
“You don't understand.”
“I understand you owe me five thousand four hundred thirty dollars and thirty cents.”
Even Agent Brooks smiled when we heard it through the monitoring equipment.
David stared at Mom.
“This is bigger than payroll.”
“I figured that out.”
“You need to leave Chicago.”
“I can't afford a bus ticket. Remember?”
His face twisted.
“I never wanted any of this.”
Mom stepped closer.
“You stole from people who couldn't buy food.”
“You think I kept the money?”
“You bought a Porsche.”
“That car isn't mine.”
Mom paused.
“What?”
“Nothing is mine.”
David looked around nervously.
“The restaurant isn't mine. The condo isn't mine. The accounts aren't mine. I am a name on paper.”
“Whose paper?”
David swallowed.
“Anthony's.”
Vincent heard it through Mom's wire.
David continued.
“Anthony Kane has been alive the entire time.”
Mom said, “Where?”
“If I knew, Rebecca wouldn't be missing.”
“So you didn't take your wife?”
David looked horrified.
“No.”
“Then who did?”
Before he could answer, headlights appeared.
A second vehicle entered B4.
David panicked.
“They found me.”
“Who?”
He grabbed Mom's arm.
“Run.”
A gunshot cracked through the garage.
Federal agents surged from cover.
Vincent came from the stairwell.
The second vehicle accelerated.
David pulled Mom behind a concrete pillar.
Another shot struck the wall.
Then the vehicle disappeared up the ramp.
Nobody was hit.
David sat on the ground.
His shoulder bled where concrete fragments had cut him.
Agent Brooks handcuffed him.
“You're under arrest.”
He almost laughed.
“Good.”
Brooks stared.
“Good?”
David looked toward Vincent.
“You have no idea what Anthony does to people who fail him.”
Vincent crouched in front of him.
“Tell me where my brother is.”
David shook his head.
“He doesn't live anywhere.”
“What does that mean?”
“He moves every forty-eight hours. Safe houses. Hotels. Empty properties.”
“Who communicates with him?”
David looked at Salvatore, who had arrived with Vincent's security team.
Fear spread across his face.
“Not here.”
Vincent followed his gaze.
“Why are you looking at Sal?”
David closed his eyes.
“Because Anthony always knows where you are.”
Salvatore stepped forward.
“You think I'm feeding him?”
“I don't think anything.”
David's voice broke.
“I know someone close to Vincent is.”
Salvatore looked ready to hit him.
Vincent stopped him.
“Proof.”
David swallowed.
“My safe.”
“What about it?”
“There's a photograph inside. Not the old one.”
“Where?”
“My house.”
“Federal agents already searched it.”
“Not the real safe.”
Agent Brooks stared.
“Where?”
“Behind Rebecca's closet.”
Hours later, investigators opened the hidden safe.
Inside was no cash.
No weapons.
Only one photograph.
Recent.
Taken three weeks earlier.
Vincent Kane walking into a funeral home.
Salvatore beside him.
Behind them, reflected in a window, stood the photographer.
An older man.
Silver hair.
Dark glasses.
A thin scar along his jaw.
Vincent looked at him and stopped breathing.
“Anthony.”
His brother was alive.
But the photograph held another detail.
A woman stood beside Anthony.
Rebecca Sterling.
She wasn't tied up.
May you like
She wasn't frightened.
She was smiling.
