Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Hastings & Associates
Twenty hours remained on Marcus Rostov’s clock.
Instead of hiding in the safety of the hospital, I was sitting in the back of a heavily tinted black SUV parked across the street from the 4th Precinct police station. The city was experiencing a torrential downpour, the rain slamming against the windshield like a barrage of bullets. The heavy, medicated bandages underneath my silk blouse were tight, keeping my skin numb, but my mind was sharper than it had been in years.
Beside me, Clara was working furiously on two separate laptops, her fingers flying across the keys while she monitored the police scanners and the global financial markets.
"Daniel’s arraignment is scheduled for 8:00 AM tomorrow," Clara muttered, not looking up from her screen. "His defense attorney is Julian Cross—the most expensive, corrupt fixer in the city. Cross has already filed three separate motions to suppress the kitchen camera footage, claiming it violates Vivian’s right to privacy as a resident of the home."
"Let him file whatever he wants," I said, staring at the glowing entrance of the police station. "The footage is already viral. It has forty million views on Facebook alone. Even if a judge suppresses it in a court of law, Daniel is already convicted in the court of public opinion. His investors are pulling out by the second. His brand is completely radioactive."
"True, but public opinion won't stop Marcus Rostov from breaking him out of custody," Clara countered, turning one of the laptops toward me. "Look at this. I managed to trace the encrypted network Rostov used to call you. It didn't route through Europe. It routed through a private server located right here in the financial district—specifically, inside the corporate office of Vance Enterprises."
I narrowed my eyes, leaning closer to the screen. The digital map showed a blinking red dot in the penthouse suite of Daniel’s architectural firm.
"Daniel didn't just borrow money from Rostov," I murmured, the pieces of the puzzle clicking into place. "Rostov owns a secret stake in Vance Enterprises. The Ponzi scheme wasn't just Daniel trying to cover his debts—it was a massive money-laundering operation designed to clean Rostov's illicit syndicates’ cash through high-end real estate developments."
"Which means if Daniel goes down, he takes Rostov's entire laundering pipeline with him," Clara realized, a gasp escaping her lips. "That’s why Rostov wants the fifteen million. It’s not just a refund—it’s an exit fee. If you pay him, he cuts ties with Daniel and vanishes before the feds raid the office."
"And if I don't pay him, he burns everything to the ground, including me," I added. "Where is Vivian?"
"She was granted medical bail due to her age and an alleged 'panic attack' during processing," Clara said, her tone dripping with disgust. "She’s currently confined to her private estate in the suburbs, supposedly under house arrest. But our private investigators just spotted a black town car arriving at her property ten minutes ago."
"Julian Cross," I stated. "He’s there to collect the secondary key to the Zurich safety deposit box. Daniel wouldn't keep the key on his person or in the office. He would leave it with the only person he trusts implicitly—his mother."
I grabbed my coat from the seat beside me, wincing slightly as the movement pulled against the burns on my shoulders.
"Where are you going, Charlotte?" Clara asked, alarm flashing in her eyes. "You're in no condition to confront Vivian. She's unstable, and Cross likely has armed security."
"I'm not going to confront her, Clara," I said, checking the small, high-definition recording device hidden inside my lapel pin—the same device I used during my fraud trials years ago. "I'm going to offer her a bargain. Vivian is a narcissist, but above all else, she is a survivor. When she realizes Daniel is planning to leave her behind to take the fall for the money laundering, she will turn on him faster than a viper."
Ten minutes later, I arrived at the gates of the Vance suburban estate. The grand, colonial-style mansion looked dark, almost abandoned against the backdrop of the stormy night. The security guard at the gatehouse was missing—likely paid off or dismissed by Julian Cross to ensure privacy.
I let myself through the front door using my old biometric key, which Daniel had surprisingly forgotten to deactivate. The grand entrance hall was silent, save for the rhythmic ticking of a grandfather clock.
As I walked toward the study, the muffled sound of frantic arguing reached my ears.
"I don't care about his bail, Julian!" Vivian’s voice shrieked from behind the heavy oak doors. "If the federal authorities link my name to those offshore accounts, I will spend the rest of my life in a federal penitentiary! Daniel told me the girl was stupid! He told me she would sign whatever we put in front of her!"
"Your son underestimated his wife, Vivian," a calm, clinical male voice replied—Julian Cross. "Charlotte didn't just protect her assets; she laid a trap. The federal prosecutors have already issued a subpoena for the last five years of your personal tax records. The Zurich box is your only leverage. If Marcus Rostov gets those medical records, he can force Charlotte to drop the civil suits in exchange for the truth about her father."
"The key is in the safe," Vivian gasped, her voice trembling with genuine terror now. "But Daniel is the only one who knows the final combination sequence. He told me if anything happened to him, I was to take the box and flee to Argentina."
"He lied to you, Vivian," I said, pushing the heavy oak doors open.
Both Vivian and Julian Cross spun around, shock freezing their expressions. Vivian looked haggard, her perfectly coiffed hair falling apart, her expensive silk robe stained with spilled wine. Cross stood near the desk, a leather briefcase open, holding a stack of passports.
"Charlotte!" Vivian choked out, taking a step back, her eyes darting to my bandages visible beneath my collar. "What... what are you doing here? You belong in the hospital!"
"I belong right here, watching your empire turn to dust," I said, walking into the room with absolute poise, despite the throbbing agony in my back. I looked directly at Julian Cross. "Mr. Cross, as a member of the bar, I suggest you step away from those passports immediately. If you assist in the flight of a federal suspect, I will personally ensure your disbarment before noon tomorrow."
Cross evaluated me for three long seconds. He was a professional rat, and rats know exactly when to jump ship. He closed his briefcase, stepped away from the desk, and raised his hands. "I am merely providing preliminary consultation to my client, counselor. No laws have been broken."
"Good. Then leave," I commanded.
Cross didn't hesitate. He grabbed his briefcase, gave Vivian a cold, dismissive nod, and walked out of the room, leaving the mother-in-law who had poured boiling oil over me entirely alone.
Vivian backed up against the fireplace mantle, her hands shaking violently. "You think you’ve won? Daniel will get out. Marcus Rostov will make sure of it! You're nothing but a pathetic, lonely girl whose father died because you weren't smart enough to save him!"
"My father died because Daniel poisoned his digitalis medication over a six-month period," I said, my voice dropping to a terrifying whisper as I stepped closer to her. "And you helped him alter the medical logs from the home nurse. I found the deleted digital footprints on the home router three months ago, Vivian. I have the MAC addresses. I have the IP logs."
Vivian’s breath hitched. She realized, all at once, that her son hadn't been the mastermind. They had been playing checkers against a grandmaster who had been mapping their downfall for years.
"Daniel is going to sacrifice you, Vivian," I said, leaning over the desk. "He already gave Rostov the location of the Zurich box. But he didn't include your name on the escape flight out of the country. Rostov is leaving you here to be the primary target for the federal money laundering indictment. You will take the blame for the Ponzi scheme, the attempted murder, and the homicide of my father."
"No... no, he wouldn't do that to his own mother!" she wept, collapsing into the leather chair. "I did everything for him! I rid him of you!"
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"Then give me the safe combination sequence," I said, placing a blank piece of paper and a pen in front of her. "Give me the sequence, testify against your son for the murder of my father, and I will ensure the prosecutor offers you a plea deal that keeps you out of maximum security. Refuse... and you will die in a concrete cell."
Vivian stared at the pen, her tear-streaked face twisting in a grotesque display of fear and betrayal. With trembling fingers, she reached out and grabbed the pen.
