Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Ledgers
By dawn, the study smelled of cold coffee and old paper. Stacked across the mahogany desk were yellowed folders, faded photographs, and digital printouts that Marcus had retrieved from secure off-site servers before the sun had even crested the horizon.
Marcus stood near the desk, his eyes shadowed with exhaustion. "Mr. Kade, I checked everything. The explosion at Sector 4 was investigated by the city police and our internal security. It was ruled a mechanical failure. A faulty pressure valve on the main boiler."
Weston didn't speak. He was pouring over a handwritten shift log from the night of the explosion. His finger traced a name near the bottom of the page: Supervisor Vance.
"Valves don't fail simultaneously across three separate manifolds unless someone overrides the safety regulators," Weston said coldly. His eyes flicked up to meet Marcus's. "Who was running the security division at the docks four years ago?"
Marcus swallowed hard. "Vince Rossi, sir. Before he... before he retired to Florida."
Vince Rossi. A name Weston hadn't heard in years. Rossi had been one of his father’s most loyal enforcers, a man who solved problems by making them disappear beneath tons of concrete. When Weston took over the syndicate, he had kept Rossi on a long leash until his retirement.
"Get Rossi on the phone," Weston ordered, tossing the log onto the desk.
"Sir, Rossi is seventy-two. His health hasn't been good. He’s living in a gated community down in Palm Beach."
"I don't care if he’s living in a golden coffin," Weston growled, slamming his palm against the desk. "Put him on speaker."
Ten minutes later, the phone on the desk chimed. After three rings, a raspy, cough-ridden voice answered. "Yeah? Who’s this at crack of dawn?"
"Vince," Weston said smoothly, though his grip on the phone was white-knuckled. "It's Weston."
There was a sudden, sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Boss... Mr. Kade. I weren't expecting... Is everything alright?"
"We need to talk about Sector 4," Weston said. "Four years ago. The boiler explosion that killed Liam Vance."
Silence stretched across the line, heavy and suffocating. The only sound was the scratchy rasp of Rossi’s breathing.
"Boss, that was an accident. We filed the paperwork. The cops closed the book. It’s all in the past—"
"Don't talk to me about paperwork, Vince," Weston interrupted, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "I’m looking at the original shift logs right now. Three manifolds blown at the exact same millisecond. That’s not a malfunction. That’s a remote charge."
"Boss, please..." Rossi's voice cracked. "We had orders. The union was blocking the new shipping lanes. Vance wouldn't take the envelope. He was rallying the men for a strike that would have cost us millions. The word came down from the top..."
Weston froze. "Whose top, Vince? My father had been dead for six months. I was running things. I never gave that order."
"Not your father, Mr. Kade," Rossi whispered, terrified. "It came from Silas Marchetti. He was partnering with us on the docks back then. He wanted Vance out of the way so he could take control of the freight lines. He told us to make it look like an industrial accident, and he promised to cover the fallout."
The room seemed to spin. Silas Marchetti. The man Weston was currently forced to ally with. The man whose daughter he was scheduled to marry in six weeks to secure a fake peace.
"Are you certain?" Weston asked, every muscle in his body locking up.
"I swear on my life, Boss. Marchetti’s right-hand man, Sal, handed me the detonator codes himself. We planted it while Vance was doing his midnight inspection."
Weston didn't say another word. He slammed the phone down, cutting off Rossi’s frantic pleading. He looked up at Marcus, whose face had gone completely pale.
"Marchetti," Weston said, the word tasting like ash in his mouth. "He killed an innocent man, framed my operation to start a war, and then used the resulting chaos to force a marriage into my family."
May you like
Marcus stepped forward. "What are your orders, Mr. Kade?"
"Cancel my morning meetings," Weston said, standing up so fast his chair rolled backward and crashed into the bookshelf. "We're going to pay a visit to the Marchetti estate. And bring the car around. We have a debt to collect."
