the lawyer said from the screen.
“According to these ledgers, the original purchase funds came from Vale-Ravencroft accounts.”
Marcus’s composure cracked.
He pointed at the phone.
“Ask her what her father did to your brother.”
The accusation struck Dante like a physical blow.
His expression emptied.
Marcus saw it and pressed harder.
“Elias was not protecting your family.
He was destroying it.
He gave information to the men who killed Adrian.”
Dante’s brother.
I knew the name.
Everyone in Chicago did.
Adrian Ravencroft had been murdered during a failed warehouse robbery twelve years earlier—the same week my father died.
Dante’s eyes moved to the old video camera visible behind Nico.
“Turn it on,” he said.
The battery had corroded, but a power cable lay inside the case.
Nico connected it while the lawyer catalogued every movement.
The camera’s tiny screen flickered, rolled through static, and settled on a grainy image of my father sitting at a desk.
He looked younger than I remembered.
Tired, frightened, but alive.
My breath caught.
“If Dante is watching this,” Elias said, “then I failed to stop Marcus.”
Marcus lunged for the phone.
Dante’s men drove him to his knees before he reached the table.
The video continued.
My father explained that Marcus had been diverting money from Dante’s companies for nearly three years.
When Adrian discovered the missing funds, Marcus arranged a false robbery at the warehouse to silence him.
Elias had tried to warn Adrian, but Marcus intercepted the message and changed the location of their meeting.
“I did not give Adrian to his killers,” my father said into the camera.
“I sent him to the south entrance because I believed it was safe.
Marcus had already moved the gunmen there.”
Dante’s hand closed around the edge of the table.
On the screen, Elias lifted a bank statement.
“The payment came from an account controlled by Marcus Kane.
I copied everything.
If I disappear, he did not only kill Adrian.
He killed me too.”
The video ended.
No one moved.
Marcus remained on his knees, held by two men.
His earlier arrogance had vanished, but his mind was still working.
I could see it in his eyes.
He was searching for a new lie.
“That recording could have been staged,” he said.
Dante turned toward him slowly.
“You told Sailor her father died in a car accident.”
“He did.”
“Then why did he expect to be killed by you?”
“Because he was paranoid.”
The police lieutenant on the screen opened one of the ledgers.
“We have corresponding dates, payments, and names.
This is enough for warrants.”
Marcus’s voice sharpened.
“You cannot use evidence taken from a private locker without proper authorization.”
The lawyer answered calmly.
“The locker belongs to Ms.
Vale’s trust.
She provided the key and authorized entry in front of witnesses.”
Marcus looked at me.
For years, that look would have made me apologize before I understood what I had done wrong.
This time I held his gaze.
“You should have let me quit,” I said.
His mouth twisted.
“After everything I did for you?”
“You mean after everything you took from me.”
“I kept you alive.”
“You kept me ignorant.”
He laughed bitterly.
“Do you think Dante is different? Do you think he protects people without collecting a debt?”
Dante
