Chapter 5 - The Raid on Seventh Street
At six o'clock that evening, night fell hard over the city.
A line of three vehicles—Arthur’s Bentley, David Sterling’s sedan, and a security van carrying four private investigators—pulled up outside the dilapidated brick tenement building on Seventh Street.
The streetlights flickered weakly overhead, casting yellow light over piles of dirty snow and trash bags lined up along the sidewalk.
"Are you sure you want to go up there yourself, sir?" Thomas asked from the driver's seat, checking his sidearm hidden beneath his jacket.
"I need to see where my wife died, Thomas," Arthur said, his voice hollow with pain. "And I need those journals."
Arthur, Sterling, and two security guards walked up the creaking wooden stairs to the third floor. The smell of boiled cabbage, old tobacco, and damp plaster filled the narrow hallway.
They stopped in front of apartment 3B. The wooden door was warped, its paint peeling off in long strips.
Before Arthur could knock, the door opened.
A stocky, red-faced man in a stained tank top stepped out into the hallway holding a half-empty bottle of whiskey. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard unkempt.
It was Richard Green—Elise’s uncle.
"What the hell do you want?" Richard grunted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. Then his eyes fell on Arthur’s face. He froze, the whiskey bottle slipping an inch in his grip. "V-Vance?"
Arthur didn't say a word. He stepped forward, his massive frame driving Richard backward into the dark, cluttered apartment.
"Where are her things, Richard?" Arthur demanded, his voice low and dangerous.
"I don't know what you're talking about!" Richard stammered, scrambling backward against a stained sofa. "She died! She didn't have nothing! I paid for her funeral out of my own pocket!"
"You paid for her funeral with fifteen thousand dollars a month from my mother's offshore account," Sterling said, stepping into the room with a briefcase full of financial bank statements. "We have the wire transfer records, Mr. Green. Tax fraud, extortion, child neglect, and forgery."
Richard’s face went white. "She signed those papers! She gave me custody of the kids!"
"She never signed anything," a small voice called out from the doorway.
Clara stepped into the room, flanked by Thomas. She walked directly to the tiny closet near the radiator, knelt down on the cold linoleum floor, and pulled at a loose wooden plank.
Richard made a move toward her. "Hey! Get away from there, you little brat!"
Before he could take two steps, Arthur grabbed Richard by the collar of his shirt, lifting him three inches off the floor and slamming him back against the wall.
"If you move toward my daughter again," Arthur growled into his face, "I will ensure you serve your sentence in maximum security."
Clara reached into the dark space beneath the floorboards and pulled out a small red tin box wrapped in plastic. She stood up, holding it against her chest, and walked back to Arthur.
"I have them, Dad," Clara said softly.
It was the first time she had called him 'Dad'.
Arthur looked down at her, his heart swelling so fast he could barely breathe. He let go of Richard Green, letting the man collapse onto the floor like a sack of dirty clothes.
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"Take him to the police station, Thomas," Arthur ordered, turning his back on Richard forever. "Hand over the financial records to the State Prosecutor. I want him in handcuffs before midnight."
"With pleasure, Mr. Vance," Thomas replied, stepping forward with zip-ties.
