Chapter 8 - THE AUDIT OF BLOOD
Z
Arthur Sterling sat frozen behind his massive desk, his immaculate gray suit suddenly looking two sizes too big on his trembling frame. He was a man in his early sixties, with silver hair and refined features that had projected authority in courtroom battles for thirty years. Now, he looked like a terrified child caught with his hand in the till.
"Evelyn," he stuttered, forcing a grotesque, shaking smile onto his face as he frantically reached toward his keyboard. "I... I heard about the terrible news from Harbor Point. The police called me late last night. They said Julian... that there was an accident..."
"Stop lying, Arthur," I said softly, standing directly across the desk from him, leaning forward and resting my hands flat on the polished glass surface. "It's exhausting."
Sterling’s hand hovered over the 'DELETE' key on his laptop.
"I don't know what you're talking about," he blustered, his voice rising in panic. "I am your family's legal counsel! I have protected your father's interests for—"
"You stole eight million dollars using my father's land as collateral," I interrupted, my voice dropping into an icy, unyielding register that cut through his deflection like a razor. "You fed my personal information to Victor Hale. You drafted the fraudulent power of attorney instruments. And you helped set me up to be murdered on a bluff in Harbor Point."
Sterling pulled his hand back from the keyboard as if the keys were on fire. Sweat beaded along his hairline.
"I... I had no choice, Evelyn," he whimpered, his composure completely shattering. He buried his face in his trembling hands. "You don't understand the people Victor works for! They were going to destroy me! I lost everything in Belize... my firm was going under! Victor came to me six months ago. He knew about your father's illness before you even did! He had access to the medical records!"
My chest tightened, a fresh wave of disgust washing over me. "He scouted my father while he was dying in the hospital?"
"Yes!" Sterling gasped, looking up with frantic, bloodshot eyes. "Victor built the whole plan! He said it was clean! He said you would sign the papers without asking questions because you trusted Julian! I was just supposed to process the escrow paperwork!"
"And Clara Mercer?" I asked, watching the button camera on my lapel transmit his every word directly to the federal SUV outside. "Did you handle the escrow paperwork when Victor murdered her in Oregon, too?"
Sterling’s face went completely ash-white. "I... I didn't know about Clara until after the loan cleared! I swear to God, Evelyn! I didn't know he was a killer until it was too late!"
"Where is the eight million, Arthur?" I demanded, leaning closer, staring directly into his terrified eyes. "Open the escrow file. Now."
"I can't!" he cried out. "If I touch that file, the offshore system will trigger an automated alert to Victor's secondary team in Miami!"
I smiled—a cold, ruthless expression that made Sterling flinch.
"Victor's secondary team isn't in Miami, Arthur," I informed him. "And Victor isn't coming back. Open the file on your workstation, or I will let the federal marshals who are currently walking into your lobby strip this office to the bare concrete."
Outside the heavy mahogany doors, shouting echoed down the corridor. Heavy boots pounded against the marble floor.
"POLICE! FEDERAL AGENTS! STAY WHERE YOU ARE!"
Sterling panicked. His eyes darted frantically toward a side door behind his desk—a private executive exit leading to the building's service stairwell.
He lunged for the door, grabbing a heavy leather briefcase resting on a side table.
"Arthur, don't!" I shouted.
He slammed the private exit door open and bolted down the dimly lit service stairwell. I sprinted around the desk and threw myself through the doorway after him.
The concrete stairwell echoed with the frantic thud of his shoes as he scrambled down the steps, clutching the briefcase to his chest. He was moving with the desperate speed of a cornered rat.
"Sterling! Stop!" I yelled, taking the stairs three at a time, my bare feet long since healed enough to run, the anger driving my body far beyond its limits.
Four floors down, Sterling’s foot caught the edge of a step. He lost his balance, letting out a sharp yell as he tumbled violently down the flight of concrete stairs, crashing heavily against the steel fire door at the bottom landing.
The leather briefcase burst open upon impact, showering hundreds of neatly stacked hundred-dollar bills across the concrete floor like green snow.
Sterling lay crumpled against the door, his leg bent at an unnatural angle, groaning in agony.
I descended the last flight of stairs slowly, stepping over the scattered stacks of cash until I stood over him.
He looked up at me, tears streaming down his bruised face, clutching his broken leg. "Evelyn... please... help me..."
I reached down and picked up the open briefcase, looking inside. Tucked into an inner pocket was a red leather binder containing offshore bank account numbers, physical property deeds, and a list of twenty-seven names—victims across six states whose lives had been systematically dismantled by Victor Hale's network.
I closed the binder and held it tightly against my chest.
"The ambulance will be here soon, Arthur," I said quietly, looking down at him with zero pity. "You should use the time to think about what you're going to tell the federal prosecutor."
The heavy steel fire door at the top of the landing burst open. Detective Reed and four armed federal marshals spilled into the stairwell, weapons drawn, flashlights cutting through the gloom.
Reed took one look at the shattered attorney, the sea of scattered cash, and the red binder in my hands.
He lowered his weapon and let out a long, slow breath.
"Is the server mirrored?" I asked Reed.
Reed pulled a radio from his belt. "Kline just confirmed. The encryption keys cleared ten seconds ago. The entire eight million has been frozen in escrow, and the seizure warrants are executing across all twenty-seven associated accounts nationwide."
He walked down the stairs and placed a gentle, solid hand on my shoulder.
"It's over, Evelyn," Reed said softly. "You got them all."
May you like
I looked down at the money on the floor, then out the narrow wired-glass window of the stairwell toward the morning sun rising over the city.
"No," I whispered, a dark intuition tugging at the edge of my mind as I remembered the glowing white light beneath the dark waves at Harbor Point. "Not all of them."
