Chapter 7 - THE ECHOES OF ROUTE 9
Two months had passed since the night the crystal decanter shattered the Sterling dynasty. In downtown Boston, high above the bustling financial district on the twenty-fourth floor of a sleek modern office tower, the frosted-glass door read: MILLER FORENSIC ACCOUNTING & WHISTLEBLOWER PROTECTION.
Inside her private corner office, Chloe sat at a massive mahogany desk, her fingers flying across her mechanical keyboard. The sunlight washed over stacks of forensic ledgers and encrypted hard drives. Though her firm was new, her reputation as the mastermind behind the Sterling Global corporate cleanup had preceded her. Word of the fierce, unyielding young investigator had spread like wildfire through corporate circles.
A soft knock interrupted her focus. Her new administrative assistant, a sharp-eyed law school graduate named Sarah, poked her head in.
“Chloe, you have a visitor in reception. He insists it’s urgent and refuses to state his business over the intercom.”
Chloe frowned, pausing her typing. “Did he give a name?”
“He said you’d know him by the company he used to keep,” Sarah replied, dropping a sleek, heavy business card onto the corner of the desk.
Chloe looked down. The card was unprinted, stark white heavy stock embossed with a subtle, unmistakable watermark: a stylized gold falcon—the private seal of the Vance family security syndicate.
Marcus Vance.
Chloe’s jaw tightened. She stood up, smoothing the front of her charcoal blazer, and walked out into the reception area.
Marcus stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking out over Boston Harbor. He wore a sharp black suit, his posture as rigid and military-precision as the day he pinned Eleanor Sterling to the floor of the banquet hall.
“You’ve built a nice sanctuary up here, Chloe,” Marcus said, turning around as she approached.
“It’s not a sanctuary, Marcus, it’s an office,” Chloe replied coldly, crossing her arms. “And security downstairs knows who you are. If you’re here on behalf of your uncle Robert or any remnants of Eleanor’s old network, you’re wasting your time.”
Marcus held up both hands in a gesture of surrender, though a grim, humorless smile touched the corners of his mouth.
“I’m not here for Robert, and I certainly aren't here for Eleanor. She’s currently spending her days scrubbing federal prison floors in Danbury,” Marcus said steadily. “I’m here because of what happened on Route 9 three years ago.”
Chloe went completely still. The air in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.
May you like
“What do you know about Route 9?” Chloe asked, her voice dropping to a dangerous whisper.
“I know the police report on David Miller’s car accident was fabricated,” Marcus said, stepping closer. “And I know my uncle Robert was the one who signed off on the security detail that tailed your father’s car the night his brakes failed.”
