Chapter 4 - The Price of Treason
By 9:00 a.m., the gray morning fog had turned into a steady, freezing rain that lashed against the library windows. The local police wouldn't be coming to the Vale estate; this was a matter that would be settled entirely within the walls of the organization.
Dominic sat back down behind his desk, watching as Marcus tied Nathan’s hands behind his back with the exact same rough, industrial hemp rope that had been used on Mia in the cellar.
"Dom, please," Claire begged, throwing herself on her knees before the desk, her manicured fingers clawing at the mahogany. "I didn't know he was going to hurt her! He told me she was just staying in the guest cabin! I didn't know about the cellar! Please, Dominic, I loved you!"
"You loved the Park Avenue penthouse, Claire," Dominic said, not even looking down at her. "And you loved the security of my name. Take her to the gatehouse. Have her things packed in garbage bags and drop her off at the bus station in Poughkeepsie. If she ever steps foot in the state of New York again, Marcus will handle the paperwork permanently."
Claire screamed as Daniel dragged her out of the room, her silk robe tearing against the doorframe, her cries fading down the long marble corridor until the heavy oak doors shut them out completely.
Then, there was only Nathan.
"What about me, Dom?" Nathan asked, his voice remarkably steady for a man who knew he was looking at his own grave. "Are you going to dig a hole in the woods behind the garage? After seventeen years, do I get a proper burial, or do I just disappear into the river?"
Dominic looked at the silver bird pendant resting on his desk—the one he had taken from Mia’s neck to keep it safe while the medic treated her.
"You aren't going to die today, Nathan," Dominic said, his voice dangerously quiet. "Death is too clean for what you did to a four-year-old child. You made that little girl watch the front door for three days, freezing, thinking her mother had abandoned her."
Nathan frowned, a flicker of genuine confusion crossing his face. "Then what?"
"You're going to the federal detention center in Otisville," Dominic said, tapping his phone. "The real FBI—the division you didn't try to bribe—just received the complete documentation of your skimming operation, your tax evasion, and the assault charges for the kidnapping of Mia Carter. The state DA has already signed the warrant. You aren't going to a country-club prison, Nathan. You're going to a maximum-security block for the next twenty-five years."
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Nathan’s face turned an ugly, mottled red. "You're turning rat, Dom? You're giving files to the feds? The commission will kill you for this!"
"The commission approved it an hour ago," Dominic said, standing up and buttoning his suit jacket. "Because the files don't mention the family business. They only mention your business. You stole from the ports, Nathan. You stole from the bosses in Philadelphia. You’re a liability to everyone. You aren't a brother anymore. You're just an accounting error that needs to be cleared from the ledger."
