Chapter 4 - Eleven Years of Silence
The heavy oak door of the administrative office remained locked from the inside.
Gordon slumped back into his leather chair, massaging his bruised neck with a trembling hand. The polished veneer of confidence was gone, replaced by the bitter, corrosive resentment of a man who believed he was smarter than the monster he served.
“You’re a fool, Vincent,” Gordon wheezed, glaring up from behind his desk. “You think you built this empire on brains alone? It ran because I kept the gears greased. I handled the filth you didn't want to touch. And what did I get? A fixed salary while you rake in millions from docks and real estate.”
“So you decided to steal from a widowed mother and her toddler?” Vincent asked, his voice chillingly calm as he stood over the desk.
“I didn't steal! I managed resources!” Gordon spat back defensively. “Claire Bennett came here with nothing. No references, no savings, a crying bastard child, and a fake background check I fabricated myself because she was desperate.”
Vincent’s eyes narrowed instantly. “What did you say?”
Gordon smirked, realizing he had leverage. “Oh, you didn't know? That background check in her hiring file—the one that says she worked at a downtown hotel for four years? I forged it. She never worked there. Her husband didn't just leave her; he ran from federal loan sharks in Cicero. She walked onto your property because she had nowhere else to hide.”
The words hit Vincent like a physical blow.
Not because Claire had a troubled past—people in Chicago always had skeletons—but because Gordon had weaponized that vulnerability.
“You knew,” Vincent said slowly. “You knew she was cornered, so you cut her pay in half, pocketed the difference into an offshore shell account, and threatened to expose her if she went to management.”
“Smart girls know how to survive,” Gordon shrugged bitterly. “She kept her mouth shut, she cleaned your floors, and I supplemented my retirement fund. Everybody won.”
“Except the child,” Vincent said.
Gordon let out a harsh laugh. “Kids don't matter, Vincent. You taught me that. You don't survive in our world by caring about kids who eat cheap cookies in the garden shed.”
Vincent didn't yell. He didn't strike him again.
Instead, he pulled a small, heavy black drive from his pocket—a portable forensic cloning device connected to the office mainframe via a hidden bridge Vincent had installed years ago without Gordon’s knowledge.
“What is that?” Gordon asked, his eyes darting toward the device.
“It’s a mirror, Gordon,” Vincent said quietly. “It’s been copying every encrypted file, offshore transfer ledger, and fake payroll authorization on this terminal for the last ten minutes.”
Panic flared in Gordon’s eyes. He lunged for the computer keyboard to hit the kill-switch, but Vincent’s hand clamped down on his wrist with bone-crushing force, forcing him back into the chair with a sharp crack of wood.
“Don't,” Vincent warned.
The progress bar on the screen ticked to 100%.
Download Complete.
Vincent pocketed the drive. He looked down at the man who had managed his estate for eleven years with a look of absolute, chilling contempt.
“You’re finished, Gordon,” Vincent said softly. “Your accounts are frozen. Your offshore shell companies in the Caymans have been flagged by my legal team. By midnight, federal marshals will have a warrant for embezzlement, extortion, and forgery.”
Gordon’s face drained of every drop of color. The cold calculator vanished, leaving behind a terrified old man.
“Vincent… wait,” Gordon stammered, scrambling forward across the desk. “We can make a deal! I know things about your shipping routes! I know the judges you paid off in ’18! If I go down, I’m taking your legitimate veneer down with me!”
May you like
Vincent turned toward the door, pausing with his hand on the brass knob.
“Let it burn,” Vincent said without looking back. “At least the ashes will be clean.”
