Chapter 4 - The Man Who Raised Him
Dorson listened to the sentence six times.
Each repetition hurt more than the last.
Victor had not simply betrayed Lorenzo.
He had planned what came afterward.
A grieving thirteen-year-old boy.
An empire without a leader.
A trusted family adviser stepping into the empty space.
Dorson finally understood his childhood.
Victor had taught him how to negotiate.
How to fight.
How to identify betrayal.
How to survive.
But perhaps Victor had never been protecting him.
Perhaps he had been shaping him.
Ila sat beside Dorson in the darkened office.
Neither spoke.
Finally Dorson asked, “Why would he keep me alive?”
Mr. Brooks answered from across the room.
“Because he needed the Valente name.”
The answer was simple.
Brutal.
Victor could manipulate an empire through Lorenzo’s son without ever needing to sit on the throne himself.
Dorson stood.
“I want to speak with him.”
Victor had been locked inside a secure room beneath Valente Tower.
When Dorson entered, Victor looked exhausted.
But strangely relieved.
“You heard it,” Victor said.
Dorson closed the door.
“Yes.”
Victor nodded.
“Then there’s nothing left to hide.”
“Why?”
Victor looked at him.
“Because your father was going to destroy everything.”
“He was trying to stop radioactive trafficking.”
“He was going to cooperate with federal agents.”
“He was trying to protect people.”
“He was betraying the family.”
Dorson stepped closer.
“No.”
Victor looked surprised.
“My father was trying to become what I’ve spent fifteen years trying to become.”
“Legitimate?”
“Yes.”
Victor laughed bitterly.
“You think men like us become legitimate because we buy buildings and wear suits?”
“Men become whatever they choose.”
“That sounds like Lorenzo.”
“Good.”
Victor’s face tightened.
For the first time, Dorson saw jealousy.
Victor had loved Lorenzo.
And hated him.
Admired him.
And resented living in his shadow.
“You arranged his death.”
Victor looked away.
“I gave Andulos the location.”
Dorson’s fists tightened.
“Did you pull the trigger?”
“No.”
“Would it matter?”
Victor did not answer.
Dorson could have killed him.
Victor knew it.
Perhaps he expected it.
Instead Dorson walked toward the door.
Victor stared after him.
“That’s it?”
“You wanted me to become you.”
Dorson opened the door.
“I won’t.”
That punishment seemed to hurt Victor more than a bullet could have.
Upstairs, Ila was still working.
She had uncovered another pattern.
Adrien Cross had indeed authorized recent shipments.
But the payments connected to him were strange.
He was not receiving money from Andulos.
He was paying Andulos.
Dorson frowned.
“Why?”
Ila enlarged a bank trail.
“Blackmail.”
Adrien was not simply a partner.
He was trapped.
Dorson ordered him brought in.
Adrien arrived twenty minutes later.
The arrogance was gone.
He looked exhausted.
Dorson placed the bank records before him.
“How long?”
Adrien stared at them.
“Six years.”
“What do they have on you?”
Adrien said nothing.
Dorson waited.
Finally Adrien whispered, “My father.”
Daniel Cross had died years earlier.
But evidence of his corruption remained.
If released, it would destroy the Cross family name and expose millions of dollars Daniel had hidden for his children.
Adrien had spent years paying Andulos to keep the secret buried.
Then the demands escalated.
First money.
Then access.
Then shipping authorizations.
Finally the port acquisition.
“They told me nobody would find the waste until years later,” Adrien said.
“You believed them?”
“I needed to.”
“You were willing to let me sign.”
Adrien looked ashamed.
“Yes.”
Dorson stood.
“You’re finished.”
Adrien nodded.
“I know.”
“But first you’re going to help us.”
Adrien looked up.
Dorson leaned over the table.
“Nikos thinks the deal is still alive.”
Understanding appeared in Adrien’s eyes.
“You want to trap him.”
“No.”
Dorson glanced at Ila.
“I want him to trap himself.”
They created a false message.
Adrien would tell Andulos that Ila had misread the code and Dorson was willing to proceed.
But Dorson demanded one final private meeting before signing.
Nikos accepted.
The meeting would happen aboard his yacht in New York Harbor.
Ila hated the plan.
“You’re walking onto his boat.”
“With security.”
“He killed your father.”
“Yes.”
“He tried to kill mine.”
“Yes.”
“And you think he’ll let you leave?”
Dorson looked at her.
“I’m not going there to threaten him.”
“What are you going there for?”
“To make him talk.”
Ila understood.
They needed confession.
Evidence.
Enough to dismantle the entire operation.
Not revenge.
Justice.
The distinction mattered.
That evening, Ila returned to her desk.
A new email waited.
No sender.
No subject.
Only an attachment.
She opened it.
A photograph appeared.
Dorson aboard the yacht.
Taken seconds earlier.
Her heart stopped.
The meeting had already begun.
Then text appeared beneath the photograph.
YOU FOUND THE CESIUM.
A second line appeared.
NOW FIND THE BOMB.
Ila grabbed her phone.
Dorson answered.
“Ila?”
“Get off the boat.”
“What?”
“GET OFF THE BOAT!”
A deafening explosion came through the phone.
May you like
Then the connection died.
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