Chapter 5 - The Extortionist’s Network
Two days later, Detective Vance called me down to the precinct for an urgent briefing.
Allison had refused her initial bail hearing, opting instead to hire a high-powered defense team led by Richard Vance—no relation to the detective, but a notoriously ruthless corporate litigator known for defending white-collar criminals and corrupt socialites.
I sat across from Detective Vance in his cluttered cubicle as he slid a thick manila folder across the metal desk.
“Your wife isn’t just a cruel narcissist, Ryder,” Vance said grimly. “We searched her personal laptop and her safety deposit box at the downtown branch of First National. We found something interesting.”
I opened the folder. Inside were copies of cashier's checks, wire transfer receipts, and a series of threatening text messages between Allison and an unknown number.
“What am I looking at?” I asked.
“Extortion,” Vance replied. “Over the past six months, while you were in Saudi Arabia, Allison systematically liquidated nearly four hundred thousand dollars from your commercial development accounts. But she didn't spend it on luxury purses or high-end spa treatments.”
My brow furrowed. “Then where did the money go?”
“It went to a man named Marcus Sterling—a disgraced former plastic surgeon who lost his medical license in Indiana ten years ago,” Vance explained, pointing to a photograph of a slick-haired man in his late forties. “Sterling operates an underground recovery and cosmetic modification clinic out of a warehouse near O'Hare. And according to our informants, he’s been performing clandestine procedures for individuals trying to alter their facial structures to evade federal warrants.”
A cold realization began to form in the back of my mind. “Are you telling me Allison was hiding someone in our city?”
“We think she was hiding more than a fugitive,” Vance said, leaning forward. “We think she was building an exit strategy. She knew that sooner or later, you’d come home and discover the abuse. She was planning to drain your entire liquid net worth, fake her own disappearance with the help of Sterling’s crew, and vanish to South America under a completely new identity.”
I stared at the photographs, the pieces of the puzzle snapping together with terrifying precision. The sudden coldness in her eyes when I walked through the front door. The irritation that I had returned early. She hadn't just been cruel to my mother; she had been preparing to cut me loose like dead weight after bleeding my empire dry.
“Where is Sterling now?” I asked quietly.
“That’s the catch,” Vance sighed. “The warehouse was cleaned out twelve hours before we got the search warrant. But we found one address scribbled in a notepad in Allison’s desk drawer—an abandoned grain elevator on the industrial outskirts of Gary, Indiana.”
I stood up, buttoning my jacket. “Give me the coordinates.”
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“Ryder, hold on,” Vance warned. “That’s outside our jurisdiction. If there’s armed muscle out there protecting Sterling, you can’t just walk in alone.”
“I’m not walking in alone,” I said, pulling out my phone and dialing Marcus Webb. “Marcus, I need you to authorize an immediate emergency civil asset forfeiture on all remaining properties linked to Meridian Trust. And call private security lead Commander Miller—tell him I need four tactical operatives at my location in thirty minutes.”
