Chapter 6 - The Key and the Ledger
The brass bolt holding the heavy oak door of Room 412 gave a sharp, metallic shriek as another heavy blow struck the frame from the outside.
“Break it!” Marcus Vance’s voice rang out, cold and furious in the hallway.
Alice didn't hesitate. Her hand darted beneath the plastic water pitcher sitting on the bedside table. Her fingers brushed against a cold piece of metal scotch-taped to the porcelain base. She ripped it free—a small, old-fashioned brass key with notched teeth.
“The briefcase,” Stefano whispered, his breathing growing dangerously shallow as the strain of talking taxed his injured diaphragm. He jerked his chin toward a heavy leather case sitting half-hidden beneath the visitor’s chair by the window.
Nero stood up instantly, shaking his massive coat as if preparing for a charge, his low growl vibrating through the floorboards.
Alice sprinted across the room, dropped to her knees beside the chair, and hauled the heavy leather briefcase onto the mattress. The latches clicked open with two sharp snaps under the pressure of the key.
She threw the lid back.
Inside sat neatly stacked piles of bearer bonds, a stack of encrypted digital drives, and resting right on top—a thick, leather-bound book with PROPERTY OF S.M. embossed in faded gold leaf on the cover. The red ledger.
“I have it,” Alice whispered, clutching the book against her chest.
Crash.
The door to Room 412 finally gave way. The heavy brass bolt tore straight out of the wooden frame, sending splinters flying across the linoleum as the door slammed backward against the wall.
Marcus Vance stepped through the threshold, flanked by two private security guards in grey suits holding heavy tactical batons. Vance looked immaculate in a charcoal three-piece suit, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the harsh fluorescent light, but his face was twisted with an ugly, panicked snarl.
“What in God’s name is going on in—?” Vance started, stopping dead in his tracks as he saw Stefano sitting up slightly against the pillows, and Alice standing by the bed with the open briefcase in her hands.
Vance’s eyes locked onto the red ledger pressed against Alice’s scrubs. The color drained entirely from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse in a tailored suit.
“Put that down, nurse,” Vance said, his voice dropping an octave into pure, venomous ice. “You have no idea what you’re holding. That material is protected under attorney-client privilege.”
“Attorney-client privilege doesn't cover arson, embezzlement, and attempted murder, Marcus,” Stefano rasped from the bed, his voice like grinding stones.
Vance didn't look at Stefano. His eyes remained fixed on Alice with terrifying intensity. He made a subtle flick of his fingers toward the two guards behind him. “Take it from her. Now.”
The guards stepped forward, raising their batons.
They took exactly two steps.
Nero moved like a thunderbolt.
The one-hundred-and-fifty-pound mastiff cleared the distance between the bed and the intruders in a single, explosive bound. He didn't bark; he didn't snap. He simply slammed his massive, muscled chest directly into the lead guard, sending the two-hundred-pound man flying backward through the shattered doorway into the hallway wall with a sickening thud.
The second guard raised his baton, shouting in panic, but Nero pivoted with terrifying agility, his jaws snapping inches from the guard’s throat. The man dropped the baton, threw his hands up to protect his face, and scrambled backward over his unconscious partner, fleeing down the corridor like a chased rabbit.
Vance stood alone in the doorway, his chest heaving, his immaculate composure entirely shattered. He reached slowly inside his jacket coat toward his left shoulder holster.
“Don't even think about it, Marcus,” a new voice echoed from the hallway.
Danny Falcone stepped around the fallen guards, his right hand steady and level, holding a black Glock 19 pointing straight at the center of Vance’s chest. Behind Danny stood Carmine Baldi, flanked by four state police officers who had just cleared the elevators.
Vance’s hand froze inside his jacket. Slowly, with trembling fingers, he withdrew his empty hand and raised both palms into the air.
“Mr. Baldi,” Vance stammered, a thin film of sweat breaking out across his forehead. “There’s... there’s been a misunderstanding. The Marquetti estate is in legal receivership due to the emergency fire protocol—software disclosures—bankruptcy—application—”
“Shut up, Marcus,” Carmine said, his voice as flat and cold as a tombstone. He stepped past the trembling lawyer and walked directly into the room. He looked at Alice, who was still clutching the red ledger like a shield, then at Stefano.
“You look like hell, boss,” Carmine observed mildly.
“I’ve looked better,” Stefano rasped, sinking back against the pillows with a exhausted exhale. “Take the lawyer away, Carmine. And make sure he doesn't reach the county jail with his tongue still attached to his mouth.”
Two of the state troopers moved in instantly, clicking steel handcuffs onto Vance’s wrists and dragging him backward out of the room while the lawyer babbled frantic, incoherent threats about constitutional rights and federal injunctions.
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Carmine watched them go, then turned his attention back to Alice. He reached out, gently taking the red ledger from her trembling hands and tucking it securely under his own arm.
“Good work, Miss Brennan,” Carmine said, his tone softening just a fraction. “Looks like your shift just got extended indefinitely.”
