Chapter 4 - The Secrets in the Digital Vault
The morning sun reflected blindingly off the fresh snow blanketing the Vasquez estate, casting geometric patterns of light across the polished oak floors of Dominic’s private study.
On the mahogany desk sat a heavy, military-grade encrypted laptop that DeMarco had managed to salvage from a secure locker in Colonel Vance’s private residential quarters during a preemptive raid executed at dawn by Dominic’s elite extraction team.
Mara sat in a leather armchair beside the desk, a steaming mug of cocoa cradled in her small hands. Umbral lay curled at her feet like a heavy black rug, his amber eyes tracking every movement Dominic made.
"Is this my mother's?" Mara asked softly, staring at the scarred, metal-plated laptop.
"It belongs to Jonathan Vance," Dominic said, his fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard as he bypassed a triple-layer BIOS password using a custom brute-force script. "He kept it locked in a safe behind his desk. But according to your mother's sanctuary records, Vance didn't buy the encryption software—he stole it from her foundation's digital archives."
Mara set her mug down and hopped out of the chair, walking over to the desk. She placed a small, ink-stained finger against the enter key. "Try the birthday of the first dog mother ever rescued. April twelfth, two thousand and fifteen. But type it backwards."
Dominic arched an eyebrow, typed 51022104, and hit enter.
The screen flickered, the military-grade lock screen vanished, and a clean, minimalist desktop interface loaded instantly.
"Smart girl," Dominic muttered, leaning back in his chair. "Alright, let's see what the good colonel was hiding from the board."
He opened the primary encrypted database. What unfolded across the screen made even Dominic—a man who had seen the absolute worst of human greed and underworld brutality—clench his fists in cold fury.
It wasn't just a record of stolen dogs.
Vance had been running a massive, illegal human trafficking and forced-labor ring disguised as a rehabilitation program for troubled youths in the northern mountains. He had used the sanctuary raids not merely to seize valuable property, but to erase witnesses, absorb independent land grants, and funnel millions of syndicate funds into offshore accounts in the Caymans.
And right there, at the top of the financial ledger, was a folder labeled VANCE-MERCER ASSETS.
Mara pointed a finger at the screen. "That's my mother's maiden name. Mercer. She didn't want the bad men to know who we were after my father died, so she changed our last name to Vance to hide in plain sight."
Dominic clicked on the folder. Inside was a scanned copy of a handwritten last will and testament, dated four years ago, along with a certified deed of ownership for the entire five-hundred-acre mountain sanctuary where Mara was born.
According to the legal documents, the sanctuary land—and all the genetic breeding lines of the Cane Corso packs—did not belong to the Adirondack Security Initiative. They belonged entirely to Elena Mercer and her legal heirs.
Which meant Colonel Vance hadn't just stolen property; he had committed grand larceny, extortion, and systemic fraud under the umbrella of Dominic’s own organization.
"Boss," DeMarco said, bursting into the study without knocking, holding a encrypted satellite phone. "We've got a major problem. The Colombian delegates just arrived early for the summit. They're waiting in the main boardroom with Senator Higgins."
Dominic stood up smoothly, buttoning his suit jacket. He looked down at Mara, then at the massive dog guarding her feet.
"Let them wait," Dominic said coldly. "DeMarco, print out every file in this directory. Make three copies. Send one to the state attorney general, one to the federal banking commission, and put the third on my desk in a sealed envelope."
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"And Vance?" DeMarco asked, a dangerous grin spreading across his scarred face.
"Vance thinks he's protected because he has government contracts," Dominic said, walking toward the heavy oak doors of the study. "He forgot that in my world, a man who steals from a child doesn't get arrested. He gets erased."
