Chapter 13 - The Checkmate
Z
The private dining room at Il Corvo was dimly lit, smelling of roasted garlic, expensive truffles, and impending doom. I sat at the head of the table, exactly where I had sat five years ago when I watched my brother drink distilled water and wait for me to die. Tonight, the victim was different, but the game was the same.
Victor Sterling walked into the room at exactly 9:00 PM. He looked like a man who had aged ten years in the span of five hours. His tie was loosened, his hair was disheveled, and the arrogant strut of a crusading federal prosecutor was entirely gone. He looked like a cornered rat.
Enzo closed the heavy doors behind him, standing guard outside. Linda sat to my right, a sleek leather folio resting in front of her. She looked at Sterling with the cold, clinical detachment of an executioner analyzing a neck.
“Sit, Victor,” I offered, gesturing to the empty chair across from me. “I took the liberty of ordering the Osso Buco. It’s phenomenal.”
Sterling ignored the chair. He stood gripping the edge of the table, his knuckles white. “I am not here to eat with a mobster. Cut the theatrics, Gallo. You forged a federal document. You hacked my social security number. Do you have any idea the federal hellfire you’ve just brought down on yourself?”
“I brought down nothing,” I replied calmly, taking a sip of Barolo. “You sought out a disgruntled priest. You accepted a piece of evidence without a proper chain of custody. And when your own cyber division opened it, they found proof that their boss is a corrupt official taking payouts from a rival crime syndicate. By tomorrow morning, the Office of Professional Responsibility will be tearing your life apart.”
“It’s a lie! And I can prove it’s a lie!” Sterling barked, though his voice lacked conviction.
Linda opened her leather folio with a soft snap.
“Actually, Mr. Sterling, you can't,” Linda said, her voice piercing the air like a scalpel. She slid a glossy photograph across the table.
Sterling looked down at it, and the remaining color drained from his face.
“When we decided to alter the drive, we didn't just pick random offshore accounts to frame you with,” Linda explained, folding her hands neatly on the table. “I run the finances for this city, Victor. Which means I know every dirty secret hiding in every bank vault. I know about your gambling addiction. I know about the four hundred thousand dollars you lost in Macau last year. And I know about the unregistered Cayman Islands account you used to hide the money you embezzled from your previous law firm to pay off that debt.”
Sterling stumbled backward, falling into the chair he had previously refused to sit in. His mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out.
“We didn't invent your corruption, Victor,” I said, leaning forward, resting my forearms on the table. “We just weaponized it. The accounts listed on that USB drive are your actual, real, hidden offshore accounts. When the FBI audits them—and they will—they will find real money. Illicit money. Try explaining to a grand jury that the money isn't mafia bribes, it’s just stolen law firm funds you used to pay Chinese bookies.”
He was completely broken. We had boxed him in so perfectly that any direction he moved would result in federal prison and public disgrace. He had tried to hunt a wolf, only to realize he had walked blindly into the den of a dragon.
“You… you set me up,” he whispered, staring at Linda as if he was seeing a ghost.
“You set yourself up the moment you targeted my family,” Linda replied coldly. “You thought I was just a CFO. You forgot I’m a mother protecting her child’s future. I will burn your life to the ground before I let you touch my family.”
I raised my glass. “Here are the terms of your surrender, Victor. Tomorrow morning, you will hold a press conference. You will announce your immediate resignation from the United States Attorney’s office, citing ‘health reasons’ and a desire to spend more time with your family. Before you resign, you will officially close the investigation into Gallo Enterprises, citing a lack of credible evidence. The USB drive will be classified as a Lucchese forgery designed to waste federal resources.”
“And if I resign?” Sterling asked, his voice hollow.
“If you resign, the anonymous tip I prepared regarding your Macau gambling debts and the Cayman accounts will never be sent to the Washington Post,” Linda said smoothly. “You lose your career, but you keep your freedom. You walk away, and you never look back at Chicago again.”
Sterling stared at the table for a long, agonizing minute. The ambition that had driven him to the top of the legal food chain warred with the terrifying reality of a twenty-year prison sentence. In the end, self-preservation won. It always does.
He slowly nodded, his eyes fixed on the tablecloth. “Fine. I’ll resign.”
“Good choice,” I said, standing up and buttoning my jacket. “Enjoy the Osso Buco, Victor. It really is to die for.”
I turned and walked out of the room, Linda right beside me. Enzo fell into step behind us as we exited the restaurant into the cool Chicago night. The crisis was averted. The empire was secure. Marco’s final dagger had been snatched from the air and plunged into the heart of our enemy.
I looked at Linda as we stood by the waiting armored SUV.
“You were brilliant in there,” I told her.
May you like
“I learned from the best,” she smiled, a fierce, unapologetic gleam in her eyes. “So… what’s our next move, Boss?”
“Tomorrow, we watch a federal prosecutor destroy his own career on live television,” I said, opening the car door for her. “And then, we make sure Keo gets to his soccer practice on time.”
