Chapter 4 - The Internal Audit
The morning sun over Chicago brought no warmth, only a harsh, glaring white light that bounced off the frozen concrete of the financial district.
Inside the private mahogany-paneled boardroom on the top floor of the Cavallaro Tower, the air was thick with the scent of dark roast coffee and absolute, suffocating silence.
Dante sat at the head of the long oak table. He hadn't slept. His black suit was freshly pressed, but his eyes were dark, rimmed with exhaustion and a cold, focused fury that made even his most seasoned lieutenants hesitate to take a breath.
Standing on the opposite side of the table were Rocco, Sal DeLuca, and Vincent’s chief accountant, a nervous, sweating middle-aged man named Arthur Pendelton whose tie was pulled loose at the collar.
“Read it again, Arthur,” Dante said. His voice was quiet, but it vibrated through the room like a plucked cello string.
Pendelton swallowed hard, his hands shaking as he held a thick manila folder containing bank statements and digital access logs. “Six... six months ago, Boss. The night Sophie Miller allegedly stole the black ledger... the security logs for the penthouse private elevator show that the master override code was entered from a terminal inside the executive suite.”
“Whose terminal?” Dante asked.
Pendelton looked sideways at Rocco, then back down at the paper. “It... it was registered to Marcus Vance. Your former head of logistics.”
The name hung in the air like a foul odor.
Marcus Vance—a slick, ambitious capo who had joined the Cavallaro syndicate five years ago from the rival Vane family network, supposedly having switched allegiances after a falling-out with Julian Vane. Dante had trusted him. He had put Marcus in charge of dock distribution and warehouse security across the South Side.
“Marcus,” Dante muttered, tasting the name like poison. “Go on.”
“The ledger wasn't stolen by an outsider,” Pendelton stammered, flipping a page. “And Sophie didn't have access to the master safe. Only you, me, and Marcus had the biometric override codes for that vault. When the audit was run the next morning, the ledger was gone, but planted inside Sophie’s locker in the staff quarters were deposit slips matching the exact shell company accounts controlled by... by Marcus’s offshore syndicate.”
Rocco slammed his palm down on the oak table with a loud crack.
“The son of a bitch,” Rocco snarled, his face twisting into a mask of pure disgust. “He framed the girl, stole the book himself to sell to the Vanes, and then had his crew snatch her off the street a week later when he realized she saw him near the service elevator that night!”
Dante didn't yell. He didn't smash a glass. He simply stood up slowly from his chair, buttoned his suit jacket, and picked up his heavy gold-engraved pocket watch, checking the time.
“Where is Marcus right now?” Dante asked.
“He’s at the South Side shipping yards,” Sal replied, stepping forward from the corner of the room. “Overseeing the morning container unloading for the international freight shipment. He thinks everything is normal. He thinks Sophie died in that alley three days ago.”
Dante walked slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking down at the ant-like flow of traffic crawling across the bridge over the Chicago River.
“He thought wrong,” Dante said softly.
He turned around, his dark eyes locking onto Rocco and Sal with a look that sent a shiver through both veterans of a hundred turf wars.
“I don't want him dead,” Dante said, his voice dropping an octave. “Not yet. I want him brought to the subterranean warehouse on Fourth Street. Alive. Intact. And I want every single computer terminal, hard drive, and financial record from his office brought with him.”
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“And the Vanes?” Rocco asked, a grim smile touching the corners of his mouth. “Julian Vane thinks he’s getting our entire harbor distribution network handed to him on a silver platter tomorrow night at the maritime gala.”
“Let him keep thinking that,” Dante said, picking up his black leather gloves from the table and sliding them on one by one. “Send word to Julian Vane that Dante Cavallaro accepts his invitation to the gala. Tell him I’m bringing a gift.”
