Chapter 10 - The Penthouse Meeting
Donald Vance didn't live in the shadows. He lived on the eighty-second floor of the glass spire overlooking the Hudson River, surrounded by modern art, floor-to-ceiling panoramic views of the Manhattan skyline, and four private security guards who had all served in elite special forces units.
At six-thirty in the morning, Vance was sipping an espresso in his silk robe when the private elevator chimed.
The doors opened.
Gabriel Costello walked out. He wasn't wearing his ruined suit; he wore a clean, tailored navy overcoat, his dark hair slicked back, his hands bare.
Behind him walked Sal, carrying a heavy metal briefcase.
Vance’s two security guards in the foyer immediately reached for their sidearms, but Gabriel didn't even look at them.
"If those guns clear leather," Gabriel said smoothly, walking straight toward the dining table, "my people outside will release the unredacted offshore wire transfers from Grand Cayman directly to the Southern District of New York. By noon, Vance, the SEC will freeze every asset you own, and the FBI will have a warrant for conspiracy to commit capital murder."
Vance’s face paled beneath his expensive spray tan. He held up a hand, motioning his guards to stand down. "Gabriel. To what do I owe the pleasure of this unannounced visit?"
Gabriel pulled out a chair, sat down, and rested his hands flat on the polished glass table.
"You tried to kill my mother, Donald."
Vance forced a dry, patronizing laugh. "I don't know what fairy tales your street informants are telling you, Gabriel, but I'm a legitimate businessman. I don't engage in gangland squabbles."
Gabriel nodded to Sal.
Sal stepped forward, set the metal briefcase on the table, and popped the latches.
Inside was Marco’s black spiral notebook, three flash drives containing Vance’s encrypted emails with the Philadelphia mercenary outfit, and the crushed silver pepper mill from Beatrice’s dining room, still stained with dried blood.
"Marco talked for three hours," Gabriel said quietly. "The shooter we captured in my cellar talked for two. It’s amazing what men will say when they realize their employer doesn't have an extraction plan for them."
Vance swallowed hard, his throat clicking. "What do you want, Costello?"
"The docks are off the table forever," Gabriel said, leaning forward, his eyes boring into Vance’s skull. "You will sign a legally binding covenant transferring all development rights of the surrounding industrial parcels to the Costello Charitable Trust."
Vance’s jaw dropped. "That’s forty million dollars of equity!"
"Then you should have hired better shooters," Gabriel replied without blinking. "And second... you will cut a check for two million dollars, drawn from your personal account, made out to the Leo Bennett Memorial Foundation for the Deaf."
Vance stared at him as if he had lost his mind. "The who?"
"Leo Bennett," Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a register that made the hair on Vance’s arms stand up. "A boy who died because people like you think the world belongs only to the people who can shout the loudest."
Gabriel stood up, buttoning his navy overcoat.
"You have until noon to sign the documents, Donald. If my lawyer doesn't have the signed paperwork by twelve-oh-one, Sal comes back up this elevator. And he won't be carrying a briefcase."
Gabriel turned and walked toward the elevator doors.
As the stainless-steel doors slid shut, cut off from Vance’s terrified gaze, Gabriel let out a long, shuddering breath.
"Boss," Sal muttered beside him. "The girl. Miss Bennett. What do we do with her now?"
Gabriel looked at his reflection in the mirrored elevator wall. "We take her home. But first... stop at the bookstore on Fifth Avenue."
May you like
Sal blinked. "The bookstore?"
"The big one," Gabriel said, his voice quiet. "The one with the language section."
