Chapter 5 - The Cornered Rat
At 10:45 PM, the heavy double doors of the manager’s office flew open.
Captain Richard Vance of the Chicago Police Department stumbled into the room, gasping for breath. He was fifty-eight, overweight, wearing a disheveled uniform with gold captain’s bars on his collar. His face was flushed red with panic.
“Vincent!” Vance gasped, wiping his sweaty forehead with a handkerchief. “What is the meaning of this? You can’t detain a police captain! You called my private line—"
Vance froze mid-sentence as his eyes landed on David Sterling handcuffed to the lamp, the open safe, and Marcus sitting behind the desk covered in financial ledgers.
“Sit down, Captain,” Vincent said without looking at him.
Vance’s hand moved instinctively toward his service weapon on his hip.
CLACK.
Frank stepped out from behind the door, pressing the cold barrel of a silenced handgun directly against the back of Vance’s thick neck.
“Hand over the sidearm, Captain,” Frank instructed politely.
Vance slowly lifted his hands, allowing Frank to slide the gun from his holster and toss it onto the sofa beside Rory.
Rory blinked at the shiny black gun, but Emily quickly pulled her daughter’s head against her chest, shielding her eyes.
“Four years ago,” Vincent spoke, walking up to Captain Vance. “Julian Carter was killed on 14th Street. You personally signed off on the hit-and-run investigation. You closed the case in forty-eight hours, citing a stolen vehicle with untraceable prints.”
Vance swallowed hard, his eyes darting frantically around the room. “It… it was a cold case, Vincent. We didn't have leads!”
“Marcus,” Vincent called out.
Marcus clicked a key on his laptop. “On October 12th, four years ago—the exact day of Julian Carter’s murder—a shell company registered to David Sterling wired two hundred and fifty thousand dollars to an offshore account in the Bahamas. The beneficiary of that account is Richard Vance.”
Vance’s knees gave out. He collapsed into an armchair, his face turning the color of chalk.
“You took two hundred and fifty grand to cover up a murder,” Vincent said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, lethal judgment. “You helped destroy this young woman’s life. You watched her work in this kitchen every week while you ate dinner at David’s head table for free.”
David, realizing that both he and Vance were completely cornered, suddenly snapped.
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With a desperate, wild scream, David lunged forward, snapping the cheap brass lamp arm off its base. He used his free hand to grab a heavy glass paperweight from the desk, lunging violently toward Emily and Rory on the sofa!
“If I’m going down, you’re taking the fall with me, you bitch!” David shrieked!
