Chapter 8 - The Ledger Speaks
Back in the master bedroom of the Beacon Hill estate, the room was bathed in the dim, amber glow of twilight.
Vincent Corvino lay propped up on his adjustable pillows, staring out the window at the distant, dark waters of Lake Michigan. His body ached from the physical strain of the morning, his legs still felt like two dead weights of lead beneath the quilt, but his mind was sharper than a surgical blade.
The bedroom door clicked open softly.
Tessa walked in, carrying a tray with a warm bowl of soup, a glass of water, and a small white medicine cup. She didn't say a word as she set the tray down on the bedside table.
“Is it done?” Vincent asked quietly, not turning his head from the window.
“The flash drive was deposited in the drop-box at federal headquarters on Dearborn Street at 3:15 PM,” Tessa reported, her voice steady and professional, though a faint hint of adrenaline hummed beneath her words. “My cousin works in the federal records department; she confirmed the strike force pulled the envelope within ten minutes of drop.”
Vincent finally turned his head, looking at her with a gaze of profound, hard-earned respect. 🇦🇬
“And your sister’s insulin?” Vincent asked.
Tessa blinked, a genuine, tired smile finally breaking across her face. “The pharmacy called an hour ago. The four-week supply was paid for through an anonymous charitable grant managed by a legal trust downtown. The balance is zero.”
Vincent nodded slowly. “Marco Rossi always paid his debts. Even from the grave.”
“Mr. Corvino,” Tessa said, stepping closer to the edge of the bed and resting her hands on the clean white linen. “If those federal agents move on Dominic’s vault tonight, what happens to you? You signed those papers. Even if the ink fades, your name was on the register.”
“My name was on the register, yes,” Vincent agreed, a dangerous, razor-sharp grin returning to his mouth. “But legally, under Section 14 of the Illinois Commercial Code, any corporate transfer executed while the primary shareholder is under duress and physical isolation without independent legal counsel is null and void ab initio.”
He reached out, tapping the side of his own head.
“Dominic thinks my brain stopped working when the bullet hit my T12 vertebra. He forgot that before I ran the docks, I spent three years at Northwestern Law School learning how to dismantle men like him legally before my father pulled me out to handle the streets.”
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Tessa stared at him, the last lingering pieces of her hesitation finally dissolving into absolute certainty. The man lying before her wasn’t a broken piece of furniture waiting for a coffin.
He was an apex predator who had simply changed his hunting grounds.
