Chapter 5 - Digging Up the Dirt
For the next four hours, the kitchen table turned into a makeshift command center. The hum of Marcus's laptop fans and the soft clicking of keys were the only sounds in the quiet duplex.
Marcus worked with frightening efficiency. His fingers flew across the keyboard as he bypassed municipal database firewalls, pulled automated license plate reader (ALPR) logs from major intersections across the city, and cross-referenced Eleanor Grayson's known vehicle registrations—a silver Mercedes-Benz S-Class—with highway toll transactions from the past week.
"Got her," Marcus muttered suddenly, leaning closer to the screen.
I stood up and leaned over his shoulder. On the screen was a high-resolution traffic camera still image taken yesterday afternoon at 2:15 PM. Eleanor’s silver Mercedes was clearly visible exiting the off-ramp leading directly into my neighborhood, less than two miles from my duplex.
"That confirms the timeline," I said, my fists clenching at my sides. "She was right here while I was grading chemistry quizzes."
"Look closer at the passenger seat," Marcus said, tapping the touchpad to zoom in.
The image resolution sharpened. Through the tinted passenger window of the Mercedes, a second figure was faintly visible—a man wearing a dark baseball cap pulled low over his face, looking away from the camera.
"Can you pull facial recognition on him?" I asked.
"Already running it through a private law enforcement database aggregate," Marcus replied, typing a quick command. A progress bar popped up on the screen: Analyzing facial features... matching against regional records...
Ten seconds later, a name and a mugshot flashed on the screen.
Victor Vance? No... Victor... I read the name out loud. Vincent "Vinnie" Rossi.
Marcus clicked on the file, bringing up a full rap sheet. "Well, well, well. Look what the cat dragged in. Vincent Rossi. Fifty-one years old. Former warehouse manager for a shipping conglomerate on the docks, three prior convictions for grand larceny, extortion, and suspected ties to the Syndicate operating out of the North Harbor district. And get this— Rossi currently works as a private security consultant and property manager for... drumroll please... Grayson Enterprises."
Grayson Enterprises was the holding company owned by Eleanor’s late husband, managing commercial real estate, industrial warehouses, and shipping logistics across the tri-state area.
"He's her fixer," I realized, the pieces clicking together with devastating clarity. "Eleanor doesn't go buy drugs from street dealers in a dark alley. She uses her own corporate logistics network and her chief fixer, Vinnie Rossi, to source whatever she needs."
"And Rossi didn't just drop off a package; he probably sourced it through his docks connections," Marcus said, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied smirk. "Which means we have a direct paper trail—or rather, a digital and logistical trail—connecting Eleanor Grayson and Vinnie Rossi to a major federal felony."
"So we go to the FBI?" I asked, looking down at the screen.
Marcus shook his head slowly. "Not yet, Mike. If we walk into a local FBI field office with traffic camera stills and a private database search, the Bureau might investigate eventually, but Eleanor’s high-priced legal team would stall them for months. By the time they got a warrant, Eleanor and Rossi would have covered their tracks, burned the evidence, and painted you as a vindictive, delusional ex-husband trying to frame a respected philanthropist."
"Then what do we do?"
Marcus stood up, grabbing his jacket. "We don't just hand the evidence to the cops. We trap them. We back them into a corner so tight they have no escape, and we do it on our terms. But to do that, we need to know where Rossi keeps his operational records, and we need to ensure Sophia is completely safe before we make our move."
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My heart skipped a beat at the mention of my daughter. "Sophia. She's with Lauren and Eleanor this weekend at the estate on Northridge Drive."
Marcus checked his watch. It was past midnight. "Then we have until Sunday afternoon before you're scheduled to pick her up. Here’s what we’re going to do: I’m going to run surveillance on Rossi’s warehouse down at the North Harbor docks tonight. You stay here, act completely normal, and get some rest. Tomorrow, we spring the trap."
