Chapter 11 - The Night Michael Died
I was in Dominic's car before he finished telling me not to go.
He climbed into the passenger seat.
"Move."
"I'm driving."
"You're shaking."
"Then buckle up."
He did.
We took the private road at seventy miles an hour.
The access card sat inside a plastic evidence sleeve between us.
M.R.
Michael Reyes.
Dominic had finally let me hold it.
"What if there's nothing on it?"
"Voss thinks there is."
"That doesn't mean Michael put it there."
Dominic looked at me.
"No. It means Voss is scared of it. That's enough."
My phone buzzed.
Marco's surgeon.
Dominic answered on speaker.
"He's awake for maybe two minutes."
Dominic hit the brakes and turned into an empty gas station.
"Put him on."
Static.
Then Marco's broken voice.
"Dom."
"I'm here."
"Voss has Lily?"
I leaned toward the phone.
"Yes."
Marco breathed through pain.
"I'm sorry."
"Save it," I said. "Tell me about Michael."
Silence.
"Marco."
"He found the money."
"Your money."
"Mine first. Then Voss's."
Dominic's face tightened.
Marco continued.
"We were moving cash through port maintenance vendors. I thought Voss was helping me cover it. He wanted Calderone blamed."
"Why?"
"War."
The word came out like air leaking from a tire.
"If you and Vincent tore each other apart, Voss buys pieces through shells. Warehouses. Routes. Contracts."
Dominic stared through the windshield.
"And Michael?"
"He found M-11. Found my transfers. I told Voss we needed to scare him."
My nails cut into my palm.
"Scare him."
Marco's breathing hitched.
"I didn't order the car."
"But you covered it."
"Yes."
I closed my eyes.
"Who drove?"
Marco whispered, "Voss."
The line rustled.
"There's more."
Dominic leaned closer.
"Say it."
"Michael made a map. Money flows. He used tiny reversals to trace shell accounts. Card stripe held an encrypted ledger. Nathan stole it from my old locker because Voss wanted it."
I looked at the access card.
"How do we open it?"
"Terminal key... M-11... plus Michael's employee ID."
The line went dead.
Dominic called back.
No answer.
We raced back to the estate's mobile command van parked near the road Voss had sent us to.
A technician fed the card through an old magnetic reader.
Prompt.
M-11.
Then Michael's employee number from archived payroll.
Files opened.
Hundreds of transactions.
Shell companies.
Port vendors.
Transfers to Marco Bellini.
Transfers to Daniel Voss under aliases.
Payments to Nathan Cole.
Then another name.
My husband's.
MICHAEL REYES.
Repeated again and again.
My chest tightened.
"No."
Dominic scrolled.
Twenty thousand.
Thirty-two thousand.
Eight thousand.
"He was taking money."
I heard the words come out of my mouth.
I hated them.
Dominic did not answer.
A new message hit my phone.
A photo of Lily sitting in a chair.
Tape around one wrist.
Behind her hung a rusted sign.
MORETTI RIVER TERMINAL 4.
Under the picture, Voss had typed:
BRING DOMINIC TOO.
I looked at Dominic.
He was still staring at Michael's name.
Then he whispered, "Those aren't payments."
"What?"
He enlarged one line.
Negative settlement code.
Reversal.
Trace marker.
"Michael wasn't receiving money."
He looked at me.
"He was following it."
Another file appeared at the bottom of the screen.
IF ANNA SEES THIS.
I clicked.
Michael's voice filled the van.
"Marco thinks Harris is his partner."
A pause.
May you like
"He's wrong."
