Chapter 3 - Tên Chapter 3 - Numbers Never Lie
The clock on the mantelpiece ticked loudly, every second sounding like a hammer striking an anvil. Twelve minutes had passed. Sweat dampened the hair at the nape of my neck, making curls break free from my tightly pinned bun.
Lorenzo stood behind me, entirely motionless, pouring himself three fingers of single-malt scotch. He didn't offer me a glass. He simply observed, like a panther watching an antelope decide which way to run.
""I need a red pen, a calculator with a tape printout, and complete silence,"" I said without turning around.
""You have twenty minutes left,"" Lorenzo replied, but he tossed an expensive Montblanc pen onto the desk beside my hand.
I ignored the trembling in my fingers. When I looked at numbers, the chaotic, terrifying world around me faded away. It had been my superpower since childhood. Where other people saw confusing rows of figures, I saw patterns, rhythms, and rhythms never lied. People lied; numbers had no emotions.
I flipped past the first seven pages of the logistics ledger. The manifest for the Navy Pier delivery was dated Tuesday at 11:42 PM. Dante claimed six pallets of imported Italian olive oil and high-grade industrial parts were intercepted by armed men driving black vans.
""Here,"" I mumbled, tapping the pen against line item 402.
""What is it?"" Lorenzo's voice was right above my ear. He had moved without making a sound. The warmth of his chest radiated against my back.
""The container tare weight,"" I said, pointing the nib of the pen at a small column on the right. ""A standard shipping container carrying six pallets of olive oil and machined gears weighs approximately eighteen thousand pounds. Your manifest lists the departing weight from the docks as eight thousand four hundred pounds.""
Lorenzo leaned down over my shoulder, his dark stubble grazing my temple. He looked at the tiny row of figures. ""The pallets were never loaded.""
""Exactly,"" I said, gaining confidence. The familiar thrill of problem-solving surged through my veins, pushing away the terror. ""The truck that left Navy Pier was empty. The hijackers didn't steal two million dollars' worth of cargo because there was no cargo to steal. It was a staged heist to cover a phantom shipment.""
""Look at the wires,"" Lorenzo commanded, his breath warm against my cheek. ""Dante claims the payment was routed to our suppliers in Genoa.""
I grabbed the bank wire sheets. Three transactions of $660,000 each. Sent through a boutique banking firm in Luxembourg, then routed to a numbered account in Cyprus.
""Look at the transaction time stamps,"" I whispered, drawing a bright red circle around three lines. ""The wire to Cyprus was authorized at 10:15 PM. That's an hour and twenty minutes before the truck allegedly left the pier.""
Lorenzo let out a low, dangerous laugh that sent a cold shudder down my spine. ""Dante transferred the money before the truck even pulled out of the gate. He paid himself.""
""Worse,"" I turned my head, my eyes locking onto his. We were so close our lips nearly brushed. ""Look at the receiving routing number for the Cyprus account. 044-889. Do you know who owns that routing prefix in Chicago?""
""Tell me.""
""It's not an offshore Greek syndicate,"" I said, tapping the desk firmly. ""It's a private escrow account registered right here in Cook County under the name 'Apex Hospitality Holdings.' That's the parent company owned by Jonathan Vance.""
Lorenzo's expression hardened until his face resembled carved granite. His eyes went dead. ""Jonathan Vance. The father of the bride whose wedding you are hosting tomorrow morning.""
The air left my lungs in an instant. The billionaire software mogul. The man whose daughter was supposed to walk down the aisle in eight hours surrounded by four hundred white calla lilies.
""Dante isn't working alone,"" I breathed, horror dawning on me. ""He didn't just steal your two million dollars. He sold out your distribution route to the father of the bride. Vance isn't just a tech billionaire... is he?""
""Vance is trying to build a casino on the riverfront,"" Lorenzo said coldly, stepping away from the desk. ""A casino that needs city permits my family controls. He couldn't buy me out, so he decided to bankrupt my transit lines and frame me for international smuggling.""
The grandfather clock struck midnight with three heavy, resonant chimes.
Lorenzo walked to the door, unlocked it, and whistled once. Mateo appeared instantly, his hand tucked beneath the lapel of his tailored jacket.
""Bring Dante to the basement,"" Lorenzo ordered without a shred of mercy in his voice. ""Break both his thumbs so he can't sign another wire transfer, then hand him over to the port authority with the fake manifests.""
""And the girl?"" Mateo asked, his cold gaze flicking over to where I stood trembling beside the desk.
May you like
Lorenzo paused, turning his head slowly to look at me. His eyes swept over my plus-size curves, taking in the flushed heat of my cheeks and the stubborn fire burning in my brown eyes.
""Miss Rosie stays with me,"" Lorenzo said softly. ""Tomorrow, she is going to help me crash a wedding.""
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