Chapter 6 - The Lawyer's Mistake
At eight o'clock that evening, Julian Cross walked into the library.
Cross was a man in his late forties, impeccably groomed, wearing a three-thousand-dollar tailored gray suit, gold cufflinks, and wire-rimmed glasses. He carried a sleek black leather briefcase under his arm. He strode into the room with an air of practiced solemnity, pretending to look deeply grieved.
“Marcus,” Cross said quietly, nodding to the big man standing by the fireplace. “How is he? The reports from the doctors this morning sounded... dire.”
“He’s holding on,” Marcus said flatly, gesturing toward the shadowed corner behind the grand mahogany desk. “He wanted to see you privately.”
Cross turned toward the desk.
Sitting in a high-backed leather chair, half-submerged in the deep shadows cast by the firelight, sat Gabriel. He was wearing his dark suit, his left arm resting in a black silk sling. His face was pale, his posture relaxed, but his eyes were completely invisible behind the shadow of his brow.
In the far dark corner of the room, behind a tall velvet curtain, Sadie stood silently, watching through a narrow gap.
“Gabriel!” Cross exclaimed, taking a step forward, his hands raised in dramatic relief. “Thank God! I heard you were... I heard the infection had taken over!”
“Reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated, Julian,” Gabriel’s voice echoed softly from the darkness. It sounded slightly raspy, perfectly mimicking the vocal fatigue of a dying man.
Cross took a seat opposite the desk, resting his briefcase on his knees. “I’m relieved, truly. But we must be practical, Gabriel. The board of executives for the shipping companies... they are panicking. Rumors are spreading through the city that you aren't going to survive the week. Rival families on the waterfront are already moving on Pier 19.”
“Is that so?” Gabriel murmured from the shadows.
“Yes,” Cross said eagerly, leaning forward. “That’s why I brought the emergency power-of-attorney documents. If you sign them tonight, I can legally freeze our assets and deploy our security forces to protect the territory before the Moretti family tries to take it.”
Behind the curtain, Sadie watched Cross’s hands.
His right thumb was frantically rubbing against the side of his index finger—a rapid, repetitive nervous motion. His breathing was shallow, his eyes darting toward the double doors every few seconds.
He wasn't worried about the Moretti family. He was terrified that someone was going to walk through those doors.
“Julian,” Gabriel said softly from the dark. “Who gave you the authority to draft power-of-attorney documents?”
Cross blinked, taken aback. “I... I am your lead counsel, Gabriel! I’ve handled your legal affairs for ten years!”
“And how much did the Broker pay you to sell those ten years?”
The room went dead silent.
Cross froze. The color instantly drained from his face, leaving him looking like a corpse in an expensive suit. His hands stopped moving.
“I... I don't know what you mean,” Cross stammered, his voice rising an octave. “Who is the Broker? Gabriel, the fever must be affecting your mind—”
Gabriel leaned forward, stepping out of the shadows into the bright golden light of the desk lamp.
He didn't look dying. He looked like an apex predator that had spent three weeks waiting to strike.
Cross let out a strangled gasp, stumbling backward out of his chair, dropping his leather briefcase onto the floor. The latch popped open, spilling thick legal files across the Persian rug.
“You... you're healed,” Cross whispered in absolute horror. “The thread... Vance said the thread would kill you in twenty days!”
Gabriel stood up slowly, stepping around the massive desk. “So it was Vance’s thread, but it was your idea.”
“No! No!” Cross shrieked, backing away until his spine hit the locked library doors. “It wasn't my idea! I was just the middleman! The Broker... he threatened my family! He promised me forty percent of the shipping lines if I helped him take you down!”
Sadie stepped out from behind the velvet curtain, walking quietly to Gabriel's side.
Cross stared at her, his eyes wild with confusion. “Who the hell is she?”
“She is the person who found your black stitch, Julian,” Gabriel said coldly.
Gabriel nodded to Marcus. Marcus stepped forward, grabbed Cross by the neck, and lifted him off his feet, pinning him against the door just as he had done to Dr. Vance four days earlier.
“Give me a name, Julian,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. “Give me the Broker's real name, or Marcus will break every bone in your hands before we throw you in the bay.”
May you like
Cross wept, gasping for air against Marcus’s iron grip. “Victor! It’s Victor Moretti! He bought the shipping codes from me two months ago! He’s the one who hired the shooters! He’s the one who supplied the industrial thread!”
Gabriel’s eyes went dark as night. “Victor Moretti.”
