Chapter 4 - The Mud and the Ledger
The ledger lay on the white marble floor between Gabriel’s polished shoes and Evelyn’s worn leather heels.
Nobody breathed. Forty of Chicago and Milwaukee’s most prominent citizens stood frozen in the winter sunlight, staring at a massive, mud-stained book that looked like it had spent twenty years at the bottom of a swamp.
Vanessa Sterling pressed a trembling hand to her throat. “Get that—that beast out of here! Gabriel, what is happening in this house? Have you lost your mind entirely?”
Gabriel did not move. His dark eyes remained fixed on the ledger. The embossed gold lettering on the leather cover had long since faded, but the stamped seal of Sterling Shipping & Logistics was still partially visible beneath the dried mud.
“Calvin,” Gabriel said, his voice terrifyingly quiet.
The animal handler stepped forward hesitantly. “Sir?”
“Take the guests out to the west terrace. Now.”
“Gabriel, you cannot possibly—” Vanessa began.
“Victor,” Gabriel interrupted, not raising his voice an inch. “Escort Miss Sterling to her vehicle. If she attempts to re-enter the house, lock the gates.”
Victor Sloane didn't hesitate. He stepped toward Vanessa, his large frame blocking her path to the doors. “Miss Sterling. The master has spoken.”
“You will regret this!” Vanessa’s voice rose into a shrill shriek as Victor practically lifted her by the elbow and guided her toward the terrace exit, trailing a wake of protesting socialites who hurried after her like panicked sheep.
Within ninety seconds, the solarium was empty of everyone except Gabriel, Evelyn, and the dog.
Titan let out a long, rumbling breath, settled his massive front paws over the edge of the leather ledger, and rested his chin upon them as if daring anyone to try and take it away.
Gabriel slowly knelt on the marble floor. He didn't care about the dust or the damp mud staining the knees of his bespoke trousers. He reached out, his fingers brushing the edge of the leather cover, then looked up at Evelyn.
“Where did he get this?” Gabriel asked.
“The drainage tunnel beneath the eastern boathouse,” Evelyn said. Her voice was no longer the soft, deferential tone of a frightened maid. It was hard, clear, and steady. “The one that connects the old Sterling estate to the Romano property line. Titan likes to dig when the ground freezes.”
Gabriel’s jaw clenched. “You knew it was there.”
“I knew where my father’s audit files ended up when the state police closed the investigation without looking in the basement.” Evelyn stepped closer, looking down at the kneeling man. “Twenty-two years ago, Julian Vance wasn't an embezzler, Mr. Romano. He was the man who discovered that Romano Holdings and Sterling Shipping were using phantom cargo manifests to launder cartel money through lakefront real estate development.”
Gabriel stood up slowly, towering over her by a foot, but his height no longer felt like a threat. It felt like a shield that had just been shattered.
“My father died in ninety-nine,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a dangerous, gravelly whisper. “A stroke. In his study.”
“Your father died of a heart attack induced by potassium chloride,” Evelyn corrected, her eyes flashing with a cold, bright fury. “Just like the auditor who signed the duplicate manifests. The only difference is that my father didn't die quietly. He fought back, and when his car went off Highway 12, someone made sure the brakes were severed before he hit the ice.”
Gabriel stared at her. The silence in the solarium was absolute, broken only by the distant ticking of the grandfather clock in the hall.
“Who told you that?” Gabriel demanded.
“Nobody had to tell me. I have the bank receipts from the Swiss accounts your father shared with Arthur Sterling. And I have the carbon copy of the payment made to the mechanic who worked on my father’s sedan twenty-four hours before his accident.” Evelyn reached into her pocket, pulled out a folded piece of yellowed paper, and dropped it onto the ledger. “Signed by Victor Sloane.”
Gabriel’s head whipped around toward the doorway where Victor had exited. His eyes narrowed into slits of pure obsidian.
For a long moment, Gabriel looked like a man standing on the edge of an abyss, watching the ground beneath his feet crumble into dust. Everything he had built—the empire, the reputation, the cold, untouchable armor of the Romano name—had been constructed on a foundation of blood and lies fed to him by the men he trusted most.
“Victor,” Gabriel breathed, the name tasting like poison on his tongue.
“Victor manages the estate,” Evelyn said quietly. “He managed your father’s schedule. He managed the security contracts. And when Vanessa Sterling’s family needed a way to keep the Romano fortune tied to their own sinking ship, Victor was the one who made sure you never looked too closely at the basement inventory.”
Gabriel looked down at the dog. Titan gave a low, rumbling groan, shifting his weight off the ledger so Evelyn could open it.
Evelyn knelt beside Gabriel, her shoulder brushing his wool-clad arm, and flipped open the heavy cover. Inside, page after page of handwritten ledgers, bank transfer numbers, and signed confessions detailed every crime the Romano and Sterling families had tried to bury beneath Lake Geneva’s freezing water.
“Why are you here, Evelyn?” Gabriel asked, his voice rough, stripped of all its polished authority. “If you wanted revenge, you could have mailed this to the FBI. You could have brought the federal marshals to the front door.”
“Because the federal marshals don't know the difference between the men who pulled the triggers and the men who paid for the bullets,” Evelyn said, turning a page to reveal a signature signed in bold, elegant ink. “And because I wanted to see the look on your face when you realized the dynasty you’re defending was built on the murder of my family.”
Gabriel looked at her profile—the sharp line of her jaw, the fierce intelligence burning in her dark eyes, the total absence of fear.
Instead of anger, a strange, grim smile touched the corners of his mouth. It was the smile of a man who had just realized he had been living in a cage, and the key had finally been turned.
“You didn't come here to be a maid, did you?” Gabriel asked softly.
“I came here to clean house,” Evelyn replied, looking straight into his eyes. “Starting with the basement.”
Before Gabriel could answer, a heavy crash echoed from the main entrance hall, followed by the sharp, unmistakable clack of a slide being racked on a 9mm pistol.
May you like
Victor Sloane’s voice cut through the mansion, cold and dripping with absolute malice.
“Gabriel! Drop the book! If you move another inch, the girl gets the same treatment her father did on the ice!”
