Chapter 3 - The Brother Marked for Midnight
Dominic had spent most of his adult life learning not to react too quickly.
Quick reactions created mistakes.
Mistakes created funerals.
But seeing Leonard Pierce’s name beneath the words LAKE LEDGER tested every lesson he had ever learned.
Pierce had represented Dominic’s father.
He had handled Vincent’s first business acquisition.
He had attended their mother’s funeral.
He knew which doors in the Castellano residence were alarmed and which were not.
More importantly, he understood money.
Enough money to hide $3.8 million.
Maybe far more.
Dominic folded the paper and slid it inside his jacket.
“No one mentions Pierce.”
Marco stared at him.
“You think he’s behind this?”
“I think somebody wants us to think he is.”
Clara nodded.
Dominic glanced at her.
“You agree?”
“The easiest way to manipulate an investigation is to give investigators exactly what they expect to find.”
Arthur rubbed his wrists.
“Pierce has always been ambitious.”
“So have half the people downstairs,” Clara replied.
Arthur gave her an evaluating look.
“You really are an accountant.”
“I’m trying not to take that personally.”
Vincent appeared in the doorway.
Two guards followed.
He saw Arthur.
“You alive?”
Arthur looked offended.
“Obviously.”
Vincent turned toward Clara.
Then something surprising happened.
He hugged her.
Clara froze.
“So,” Vincent said quietly, “I’m told you prevented me from having an extremely bad evening.”
“You followed instructions. That helped.”
Dominic looked at his brother.
“What exactly did she tell you?”
Vincent released her.
“She said someone had put something in my jacket and told me to drop when the lights went out.”
“You didn’t think to tell security?”
“I had about thirty seconds.”
Dominic’s eyes narrowed.
Vincent sighed.
“Yes, Dominic, next time someone informs me during a waltz that I may be carrying a tracking device, I’ll file the appropriate paperwork.”
Clara looked between them.
“You two argue at strange times.”
“This is how he expresses affection,” Vincent said.
“I don’t.”
“See?”
Arthur almost smiled.
Then Clara returned to the laptop.
The screen was locked now.
“Did anyone touch this?”
Marco shook his head.
“No.”
“Good.”
She crouched near the desk.
Dominic watched.
“What are you looking for?”
“Anything they were too nervous to take.”
She checked beneath the laptop.
Nothing.
Drawer.
Empty.
Trash bin.
Receipts.
She began sorting them.
Vincent crouched beside her.
“This glamorous life you lead. I understand why Dominic likes having you around.”
Dominic gave his brother a look.
Clara pretended not to hear.
Then she found it.
A valet ticket.
Printed two days earlier.
Vehicle: black Mercedes.
Customer name: L. Pierce.
Parking location: Aster executive garage.
Handwritten beside the ticket number:
11:55. V.C.
Clara showed Dominic.
Vincent’s expression changed.
“V.C.”
“Could be you,” Clara said.
“Or Dominic.”
Dominic shook his head.
“My middle name is Anthony.”
Vincent looked at the time.
11:55.
Then checked his watch.
10:42 p.m.
Arthur went silent.
“The message on the phone.”
Dominic nodded.
“They said Vincent was bait.”
Clara felt cold.
Midnight.
Whatever was planned might not be over.
It might not even have started.
“Where is Pierce?” Dominic asked.
Marco spoke into his radio.
A pause.
Then: “He left the ballroom nine minutes ago.”
Dominic cursed softly.
“With whom?”
“Security cameras show him alone.”
Clara looked at the laptop.
“Can we get this downstairs?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t connect it to your network.”
Marco raised an eyebrow.
Clara continued.
“If Pierce has access to your systems, anything connected could warn him.”
Dominic pointed to one of the men.
“Take it to the offline security room.”
Then he looked at Vincent.
“You’re leaving.”
Vincent laughed once.
“No.”
“That wasn’t a suggestion.”
“I figured.”
“Vincent.”
“If someone wants to use me as bait, hiding me changes their plan.”
“That is the point.”
“It also makes them disappear.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You almost died downstairs.”
Vincent’s humor vanished.
“I know.”
For a moment they were no longer the king of Chicago and his charming younger brother.
They were two boys who had already buried too many people.
Clara saw it.
So did Arthur.
Vincent lowered his voice.
“I’m tired of people deciding what happens to this family while we react. If they want me somewhere at midnight, I want to know where.”
Clara looked at the valet ticket.
“A car.”
“What?”
“The Mercedes.”
She turned the ticket over.
There was a number printed beneath the barcode.
Vehicle bay 42.
“If Pierce left the ballroom but his car is still in the executive garage, maybe the car is part of the plan.”
Dominic’s gaze sharpened.
“Marco.”
“Already moving.”
They took the private elevator down.
The executive garage beneath the Aster was quieter than the hotel above.
Rows of expensive vehicles sat beneath fluorescent lights.
Bay 42.
Black Mercedes.
Empty.
Marco scanned beneath the chassis before anyone approached.
“No obvious device.”
Clara moved to the passenger side.
The window was slightly open.
“That normal?”
Vincent shook his head.
“For Pierce? He complains when people breathe near his leather.”
Dominic signaled Marco.
The lieutenant opened the door carefully.
Nothing happened.
Inside sat a leather briefcase.
Clara stared.
Vincent reached for it.
Dominic caught his wrist.
“Don’t.”
Vincent looked down at his brother’s hand.
“See? Affection again.”
A security technician inspected the case.
“No wires. No electronics detected.”
Dominic opened it.
Legal papers.
A passport.
Cash.
And one photograph.
Vincent.
Taken that afternoon.
Walking out of the Castellano office.
A red circle had been drawn around his head.
On the back:
MIDNIGHT. NAVY PIER 14. COME ALONE.
Vincent exhaled.
“Well.”
Dominic’s expression became unreadable.
“No.”
Vincent took the photograph.
“They expect me there.”
“They expect you dead.”
“They expect me alone. Different thing.”
Clara studied the handwriting.
Something bothered her.
“Wait.”
Dominic looked at her.
“The writing on the back.”
“What about it?”
“It’s printed.”
Vincent frowned.
“So?”
“The room note was handwritten.”
Clara took out the Northstar paper.
“Blue ink. Right slant. Rounded capital L.”
Then she looked at the photograph.
Block letters.
Careful.
Almost deliberately anonymous.
“Whoever left this wanted us to find it.”
Dominic nodded slowly.
“Another trap.”
“Maybe.”
She examined the briefcase.
“Where did Pierce usually keep this?”
Vincent answered.
“He carries it everywhere.”
“Then why leave his passport?”
Silence.
Clara looked at Dominic.
“Because he didn’t leave voluntarily.”
Dominic immediately turned to Marco.
“Find Pierce.”
Marco made the call.
While he spoke, Clara lifted the passport.
Something thin was beneath it.
A hotel key card.
Not Aster.
Lake Geneva.
Wisconsin.
The embossed name read:
BLACKWATER HOUSE
Vincent’s humor disappeared.
Dominic stared at the card.
He knew the place.
Clara could tell.
“What is Blackwater House?”
Neither brother answered immediately.
Finally Arthur spoke.
“Property their father owned.”
Dominic’s jaw tightened.
“Sold fifteen years ago.”
Arthur shook his head.
“That’s what the paperwork says.”
Clara looked at him.
“You don’t believe it?”
“I drove their father there every summer for ten years.”
“And?”
Arthur’s eyes returned to the card.
“The week before he died, he told me Blackwater would always belong to the family.”
Dominic looked at the Northstar note again.
Lake ledger.
Blackwater House.
Missing millions.
His father.
This was older than Clara’s audit.
Much older.
Marco lowered his phone.
“We found Pierce’s driver.”
Dominic waited.
“He says Pierce never came to the car.”
“Where is he?”
“Last camera caught him entering the kitchen corridor.”
Clara felt the pieces rearrange.
Arthur taken through a service hallway.
Pierce vanishing through another.
Two trusted men removed from the ballroom.
Vincent marked for midnight.
This was not one attack.
Someone was separating Dominic from everyone he trusted.
His phone rang.
This time the caller ID displayed Vincent’s number.
Everyone looked at Vincent.
His phone was in his hand.
Dominic answered.
A distorted voice spoke.
“Midnight. Pier Fourteen.”
Dominic said nothing.
The voice continued.
“Bring your brother.”
A pause.
“And bring the accountant.”
The line went dead.
Clara’s stomach tightened.
Vincent whispered, “They want both of us.”
Dominic stared at the dark phone screen.
“No.”
Clara looked at him.
“No what?”
“No one is bringing you anywhere.”
“Dominic—”
“They know your name. They know what you found. And now they specifically asked for you.”
“Which means I’m useful.”
“Which means you’re a target.”
“Those things aren’t mutually exclusive.”
He looked at her.
For once, Dominic Castellano had no immediate answer.
Then the security technician called from beside Pierce’s Mercedes.
“Mr. Castellano?”
Dominic turned.
The technician had opened the trunk.
Inside was a small waterproof case.
Clara approached.
The case contained a stack of old financial records.
At the top was a photograph dated eighteen years earlier.
Dominic’s father stood outside Blackwater House.
Beside him was Leonard Pierce.
Arthur Bellini.
And one other man.
A man Dominic recognized instantly.
Victor Marlowe.
Written beneath the photograph were four names and a sentence.
THE FOUR FOUNDERS.
ONE OF THEM STOLE EVERYTHING.
Dominic stared at his dead father’s face.
Then at Arthur.
Arthur looked as shocked as he did.
Clara understood the real danger.
This was no longer about $3.8 million.
It was about something buried eighteen years earlier.
And whoever had started moving money again believed Clara was close enough to uncover it.
Midnight was approaching.
May you like
And the past had just invited them to Navy Pier.
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