Chapter 4 - The Tax on Treachery
The warehouse on the East River was a cold, cavernous space that smelled of wet concrete, rusty iron, and old grease. It was a place where problems disappeared, and tonight, it was the stage for the final act of the Reed family's arrogance.
Robert Reed, a prominent New York state senator who had spent his career lecturing the public on morality, was tied to a heavy oak chair in the center of the floor. He was wearing a silk pajama top and flannel trousers, his silver hair disheveled, his face red with a mix of anger and terror.
Two of my men stood behind him, their hands resting on their holsters.
In the corner, sitting on a low wooden bench, was Savannah. Her makeup was ruined by tears, her designer dress wrinkled, her diamonds looking like cheap glass in the dim, yellow light of the warehouse lamps. When she saw me enter, she let out a small, pathetic whimper.
"Adrian!" Robert Reed shouted, his voice echoing off the corrugated steel walls. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? I am a United States senator! You cannot kidnap me from my home! The FBI—"
"The FBI doesn't know you're here, Robert," I said, walking slowly toward him. My boots made a sharp, rhythmic sound on the concrete. "And even if they did, they wouldn't care. They’ve been looking for the source of the dirty union money in your campaign fund for three years. I just gave them the offshore accounts."
Reed’s face went from red to a pale, sickly gray. "What?"
"Panama," I said, stopping three feet from his chair. I leaned down, my face inches from his. "The shell company you used to bribe the dock union. The same shell company you used to frame Claire Bennett. I sent the entire ledger to the federal prosecutor ten minutes ago."
"Adrian, please!" Savannah screamed, running forward, but Miles grabbed her shoulder, forcing her back onto the bench. "My father did it for us! He wanted us to be together! He wanted you to have the political backing to expand your logistics network!"
"He did it to steal my cargo, Savannah," I said, not looking at her. "He wanted to use my shipping lanes to move his dirty money out of the country, and he knew Claire was too honest to let it slide. She was the accountant who noticed the leaks in my payroll. She wasn't an FBI informant—she was trying to protect me from you."
I reached into my pocket and pulled out a heavy, black iron tool—a pair of industrial cable cutters. I dropped them onto the small metal table beside Reed’s chair with a loud, ringing clatter.
"Adrian, no!" Robert Reed screamed, his legs thrashing against the chair. "I didn't hire those men to hit her! That was Savannah! She did it! She was the one who found out Claire was pregnant! She said she would handle it!"
Savannah gasped, her eyes wide with betrayal. "Father! You coward! You told me to do it! You said if the baby was born, Adrian would write us out of his will!"
I watched them tear each other apart, their greed and cowardice on full display in the dirty warehouse. It was an ugly, pathetic sight.
"I am not going to kill you, Robert," I said, my voice dropping to a low, icy whisper that made both of them freeze. "And I am not going to kill Savannah. That would be too clean."
I turned to Miles.
"Deliver Robert to the federal marshals at Foley Square," I commanded. "With the Panama files. Let them lock him in a cell with the men he’s been stealing from for twenty years."
"And Savannah, boss?"
May you like
"Strip her of the apartment," I said, finally looking at her. Her face was a ruin of terror. "Strip her of the cars, the bank accounts, the jewelry. Leave her with the clothes she’s wearing. If I see her in this city again, if she even walks down the same street as my son, she will disappear. Permanently."
I turned and walked toward the exit, the sound of Savannah’s desperate, hysterical sobbing fading into the roar of the river outside.
