Chapter 5 - The Silver Watch's Secret
The silence in the dining room was so absolute you could hear the rain lash against the heavy bulletproof glass of the bay windows.
Not one of the seven lieutenants dared to draw a loud breath. Their eyes darted nervously between the silver pocket watch resting on the black marble and the absolute death mask that was Adrian Cole’s face.
"Adrian," Silas, the syndicate's attorney, spoke first, his voice trembling slightly as he adjusted his wire-rimmed glasses. "This... this is a monstrous accusation. We bled for your father. We bled for you. To suggest that one of us would betray James—"
"James was family!" Dominic roared, slamming his heavy fist onto the table, though his eyes kept flickering toward the exit where six armed guards stood with their submachine guns at the low-ready. "We mourned that boy! I carried his casket, for God's sake!"
"One of you carried his casket," Adrian corrected coldly, "and one of you put him in it."
Nora, sitting on the table, looked at Marcus—the chief financial officer who was staring at the pocket watch as if it were a venomous snake ready to strike.
She pointed her small finger at him. "Your face is red, mister. Like a tomato."
Marcus flinched back as if the child had pointed a loaded gun at his chest. "Adrian, get this child out of here! This is insanity! You bring a maid and an illegitimate kid into our inner sanctum and throw accusations based on the ramblings of a dead man four years ago?!"
Before Marcus could take another breath, Adrian’s hand shot across the table.
He grabbed Marcus by his silk tie, yanking the fifty-year-old man half-way across the marble table, scattering silverware and crystal. The terrifying speed of the move left the other six lieutenants scrambling backward in their chairs.
"Speak about my niece with disrespect again, Marcus," Adrian whispered, his face inches from the terrified man's, "and I will tear your tongue out of your throat before you can apologize."
"Adrian, please!" Marcus choked out, clutching Adrian's wrist. "I didn't do it! I swear on my mother's grave!"
"Mommy," Nora said softly, turning her head toward where I stood near the stairs. "The silver watch has the secret button, right?"
Every head in the room snapped toward me.
I froze. I hadn't realized Nora knew about the catch. When James had given me the watch four years ago in Boston, he had shown me a tiny, hidden release mechanism built into the side of the silver casing—a compartment designed to hold micro-photographs or small documents. I had never opened it after his death because I was too heartbroken to touch the mechanism.
Adrian slowly let go of Marcus, letting the man collapse back into his chair, gasping for air.
Adrian picked up the pocket watch. He looked at me, a silent question in his dark eyes.
I stepped down from the mezzanine, my heels clicking softly against the marble floor, and walked over to the table. I picked up the watch from Adrian's hand, located the microscopic silver pinhead hidden near the winding stem, and pressed it firmly with my thumbnail.
With a tiny click, the back casing of the watch popped open.
It didn't contain a picture. It contained a tiny, folded slip of synthetic, waterproof paper—covered in tiny, meticulous handwriting and a set of encrypted financial account codes.
James’s handwriting.
"He knew," I whispered, tears filling my eyes as I recognized the sharp, slanted script. "The night he died... he put this inside before he got into the car."
Adrian took the slip of paper. His eyes scanned the codes, his brow furrowing as he processed the numbers. He was a master of logistics and finance; he recognized those routing numbers instantly.
His gaze slowly drifted away from Marcus... away from Silas... away from Dominic... and landed directly on the man sitting at the far end of the table.
Arthur.
Arthur was the oldest lieutenant—the man who had served Adrian’s father for forty years, the man who had bought Adrian and James their first pocket knives when they were boys, the man who had cried the loudest at James’s memorial.
"Arthur," Adrian said, his voice disturbingly calm. "Why are your private offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands linked to the Valenti family's shell corporations?"
Arthur didn't scream. He didn't protest. He didn't drop his glass.
May you like
Instead, the old man slowly leaned back in his leather chair, a cold, bitter smile breaking across his wrinkled face.
"Because your father was a fool, Adrian," Arthur said softly, his voice devoid of all former warmth. "And your brother James was going to destroy everything we built."
