Chapter 8 - The Truth in the Numbers
An hour later, they were back in the safety of the eighty-first floor penthouse.
The rain outside had turned into a torrential downpour, streaking the high glass windows with long, distorted silver lines. City sirens wailed far below on Fifth Avenue as the police responded to the shooting at the West Side Savings Bank.
Julian sat at his large desk, the black leather notebook open beside a high-powered workstation where the encrypted flash drive was currently uploading its contents into a secure local server.
Evelyn sat in the high-backed leather chair across from him, sipping hot tea while Doctor Vance checked her bandaged wrists to ensure she hadn't torn her stitches during the escape.
"The drive is clean," Julian announced after twenty minutes of silent processing. "It contains full transaction histories for seven offshore banks in Switzerland, the Cayman Islands, and Liechtenstein. Every bribe paid to city officials for the last twenty-five years is logged here with dates, amounts, and account numbers."
He looked up at Evelyn.
"Your father wasn't just an accountant, Evelyn. He was a master archivist. He kept voice recordings of Vincent confirming the payments."
Evelyn stared at her cup. "He knew Vincent would kill him eventually. He was diagnosed with late-stage pancreatic cancer last November. He knew he didn't have much time left, so he spent his final months making sure Vincent couldn't touch me after he was gone."
"Why didn't he give this to the FBI?" Doctor Vance asked, packing her medical kit.
"Because the FBI has three regional directors on Moretti's payroll," Julian answered, pointing a finger at a list of names scrolling across his monitor. "If she had walked into the federal building on Plaza Plaza with this drive three months ago, she would have disappeared before she reached the elevator."
Julian leaned back in his chair, tapping his fingers together thoughtfully.
"So how do we use it?" Evelyn asked. Her voice was steady now, free of the panic that had seized her in the vault. "If the police are corrupt, how do we stop him?"
"We don't give it to the police," Julian said softly. "We give it to his allies."
Evelyn frowned. "His allies?"
"Vincent’s empire relies on forty different legitimate business partners—investors, construction firms, insurance conglomerates, and private equity funds," Julian explained. "They pretend not to know where his money comes from as long as their dividends are paid on time. But if these files are leaked to the Wall Street Journal and the European Banking Authority at seven o'clock tomorrow morning, every single one of those institutions will freeze his assets to protect themselves from federal RICO charges."
Julian’s face set into a expression of cold, methodical execution.
"By noon tomorrow, Vincent Moretti won't have enough liquid cash left to pay for his morning coffee, let alone hire hitmen to come after this building."
May you like
He stood up, walked around the desk, and stopped directly in front of her. He reached down and touched her jaw, his thumb brushing lightly over the fading yellow bruise on her cheekbone.
"It's over, Evelyn," Julian said gently. "You won."
