Chapter 7 - The Security Footage Audit
By 2:00 PM, the warehouse basement looked like a command center. Three young men in black hoodies—Dominic’s digital team—were sitting in front of six massive monitors, their fingers flying over mechanical keyboards that clacked like small arms fire.
I sat behind them, a yellow legal pad on my knee, my old forensic accounting instincts overriding my fear. If there was a leak, it wasn't just on the street. It was in the data.
"Run the time-stamps again," I said, pointing a pencil at the third screen. "The restaurant footage from table twelve. Look at the background behind Margaret Chen’s head."
Dominic stood behind my chair, his hand resting on the back of my seat, his presence so large it seemed to block out the cold air coming from the basement’s concrete walls.
The monitor showed the ninety-one-floor dining room from the previous night. The resolution was high enough to see the bubbles rising in Margaret’s wine glass. In the background, near the main service station, a man in a black captain’s jacket was standing with an iPad.
"There," I said, leaning forward. "Look at his left thumb. He’s not checking the table assignments. He’s using an old blackberry routing protocol to send an encrypted ping every time someone enters the room."
"That’s Carson," Dominic said, his jaw tightening until the white scar flared. "He’s been the maître d' there for six years. My father gave him his first car."
"He didn't give him his last one," I said, tapping the screen with my pencil. "Look at the registry logs for Verano Holdings from three years ago. The day before the ferry disaster. Carson’s name appears on a payroll ledger for an off-shore catering service based in Aruba. The service was owned by a holding company called 'Red Shield Logistics.'"
"Red Shield is Rosetti’s primary front for the union kickbacks," Nico said from the door, his face darkening. "The bastard was the one who told Salvatore which ferry she was taking."
The room went completely quiet.
Dominic didn't shout. He didn't break anything. He simply reached down, took the pencil from my hand, and laid it down neatly on the desk.
"Three years," he whispered, his voice so cold it seemed to drop the temperature in the basement by ten degrees. "Three years I thought it was an accident. I thought the engine room blew because of an old line. I spent a million dollars on an independent salvage crew to find her coat, and the man who sold the coordinates was pouring my water every Thursday night."
He turned to Nico. "Where is Carson now?"
"He didn't show up for his shift today, Boss," Nico said. "His apartment in Stuyvesant Town was cleared out by sunrise. He’s running."
"He’s not running far with an iPad that uses a fixed blackberry protocol," I said, my fingers already tapping out a command on the terminal in front of me. "The routing node has a dead-man’s switch. If he doesn't check into the Rosetti server in Newark every twelve hours, the device wipes itself. That means he’s within thirty miles of the Hudson river right now."
A red dot blinked on the map on the center monitor.
"Perth Amboy," one of the tech guys said, looking up at Dominic with wide eyes. "The old coal docks."
Dominic reached into his waistband, pulled out his silver Beretta, and checked the chamber with a single, practiced slide. Clack.
"Nico, get the cars," Dominic said. "Elena, stay with the boys in the upper suite. If anyone who isn't wearing a Verano wolf pin comes through that gate, the houseman has orders to drop the concrete shutters."
"Dominic, wait," I said, standing up and catching his sleeve. The wool felt thick and rough under my fingers. "Don't go out there just for revenge. If Rosetti is waiting for you at the coal docks, it’s a trap."
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Dominic stopped at the foot of the stairs, looking back at me over his shoulder. The silver in his eyes was brighter than the fluorescent lights.
"It’s not revenge, Elena," he said, his hand coming down over mine where it held his coat. "It’s an audit. And the Verano family doesn't leave outstanding balances."
