Chapter 3 - The Cold Breakfast
At 6:00 a.m., the sun rose over Manhattan, casting a pale, weak light through the windows of a small, nondescript apartment in Brooklyn. Evelyn sat at a small kitchen table, drinking black coffee from a ceramic mug. The apartment belonged to her late mother's sister—a place Vincent didn't even know existed because he had always deemed her maternal family "beneath his notice."
Her phone buzzed. It was a text from Chloe, her closest confidante, who still had ears in the DeLuca organization.
Chloe: He’s losing his mind. He spent the night at the office with the lawyers. The bank told them the freeze order came directly from the Southern District of New York. They aren't even telling him what the charges are yet.
Evelyn didn't reply. She opened a spreadsheet on her tablet. For twelve years, she had kept two sets of books. Not because Vincent asked her to, but because she knew that a man who builds his house on bodies will eventually need a clean exit strategy. She had originally designed the secondary ledger to protect them both if the government ever got too close. But eleven months ago, when she found the second phone and heard Vincent promising Savannah that he would "phase Evelyn out" once the new contracts were signed, she realized the exit strategy was only for one.
Back at the DeLuca Development headquarters, the atmosphere was chaotic. Vincent sat at the head of the boardroom table, surrounded by six high-priced defense attorneys and his trembling CFO, Marcus.
"How the hell does a bank freeze forty million dollars without a warrant?" Vincent roared, slamming his fist onto the mahogany wood. "Call the regional director! I bought him his house in the Hamptons!"
"The regional director isn't answering his phone, Vincent," Marcus whispered, his face covered in a cold sweat. "It's not just the Cayman account. The payroll accounts for the construction workers at the Midtown site just threw a red flag. The automated system rejected the deposits because the funding source is listed under a federal fraud investigation."
"Get the backup cash from the Newark warehouse," Vincent ordered, his eyes wild. "We pay them in cash by noon, or the union pulls the men off the site. If that site shuts down for even twenty-four hours, the city revokes our building permit."
The door to the boardroom opened, and Savannah stepped in, looking exhausted, her makeup from the night before smeared under her eyes. "Vincent... the penthouse elevator isn't working for my key card anymore. The building manager says the property title is under legal review. What is going on?"
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Vincent didn't look at her. "Marcus, go to Newark. Now."
Marcus swallowed hard, looking down at his tablet. "I can't, Vincent. The Newark warehouse manager just texted me. Two minutes ago... the FBI breached the front gates."
