Chapter 11
Yet, victory in high finance is never clean; it merely drives the venom deeper underground.
Marcus, my head of security, stepped into the terminal office, his trench coat damp with morning mist. He did not bother with pleasantries. He laid a thick manila dossier on my desk beside my untouched espresso.
"The federal raids on Vance’s secondary offices uncovered twenty encrypted ledgers," Marcus said, his gravelly voice dropping an octave. "Most of it covers routine tariff fraud, kickbacks to maritime labor officials, and falsified manifestos. But two files were held on a separate air-gapped server. They weren't addressed to Richard or Arthur. They were addressed to an offshore shell firm in Rotterdam registered under the name 'Aegis Vanguard'."
I opened the folder. The balance sheets showed staggering capital outflows—tens of millions funneled out of domestic shipping accounts over the last four years, disguised as salvage operations and bulk container leases.
"Who controls Aegis Vanguard?" I asked, turning a page detailing private security manifests and weapons clearances.
"We don't know yet," Marcus answered grimly. "Marcus Vance didn't flee the country after the boardroom showdown. Our trackers picked up his private jet touching down in Zurich, then transferring by ground transport toward the Austrian border. He isn't acting like a ruined tycoon trying to retire in peace. He is regrouping with someone who possesses far deeper liquidity than his domestic syndicate ever showed on paper."
I stared at the financial logs. Richard and Arthur had been arrogant, greedy fools, easily manipulated by their own vanity. Marcus Vance, however, was a predator who had survived three market collapses. He would not have staked his daughter’s marriage and his company's future on a clumsy frame job using a housemaid unless he was under severe pressure from someone higher up the chain. Renata’s little theatrical performance with the antique clock had been pathetic, but it had bought someone forty-eight hours of absolute silence during the account transfers.
"Lorenzo," Marcus continued, tapping a line on the manifest. "Look at the dates. Every time an offshore transfer cleared, an unmarked container vessel docked at Berth 14 in the Northern Bay. The manifests were signed by a single port supervisor who vanished from his apartment last night. We found his vehicle abandoned near the river locks."
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"Find him," I ordered, closing the folder with a sharp snap. "Put two extra security units on the perimeter of the Duca manor. Rotate the biometric keys on the gates every six hours. I don't care if Vance is hiding in the Alps or sitting in an offshore yacht—if he so much as glances in the direction of my home, I want to know before he draws his next breath."
Marcus nodded and turned on his heel. I stood by the glass, watching the black water churn beneath the docking freighters. The battle in the boardroom was finished, but the shadow behind it had only just begun to move.
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