Chapter 5 - Facing the Montreal Syndicate
The heavy front door shook under three slow, deliberate thuds. The sound echoed through the high-ceilinged hallway like gunshots. I didn't hide in the kitchen, and I didn't dial 911. Through the small leaded glass panel, I saw the two men waiting on the porch. Beside me on the entry table lay Eleanor’s tape recorder and a copy of the District Attorney’s fraud report Arthur had provided.
I unlocked the deadbolt and pulled the door open, keeping the brass security chain fastened.
The taller of the two men was in his late forties, with a scarred jawline, cropped graying hair, and cold blue eyes that registered neither surprise nor anger at finding a woman alone on the other side of the threshold. He wore an expensive wool overcoat over an open-collared dress shirt. He pulled a leather card case from his pocket and held up an ID that read V. Moreau - Sovereign Asset Recoveries.
""Good evening, Madame,"" he spoke with a sharp French-Canadian accent. ""We are looking for Julian Morrison. Or, more accurately, we are looking for the deed to 142 Linden Avenue.""
""Julian doesn't live here,"" I said, keeping my gaze steady. ""And the deed to this house will never belong to him or your clients.""
The man smiled faintly, a chilling, humorless gesture. ""Madame, I understand this is emotional. Julian gave us his word three days ago in Montreal that upon his return to New York, the ownership of this residential building would be signed over to satisfy a two-million-dollar judgment. If Julian is not here, you are occupying an asset pledged as collateral.""
""Julian pledged a forgery,"" I replied evenly.
The second man, shorter and stockier, shifted forward, placing a heavy leather boot against the lower door frame. ""Look, lady, we don't care about family drama. The lien is registered in Quebec. If Julian lied to us, that's Julian's problem. But the house pays the bill. You have until tomorrow morning to vacate.""
""Take your foot off my door,"" I said, my voice dropping so cold and sharp that even the stocky man hesitated.
I reached to the table, unhooked the security chain, and opened the door wide. Both men stiffened, clearly expecting tears or hysterical pleas, not a woman standing alone inviting them to look inside.
""Step into the foyer, Mr. Moreau,"" I said, gesturing toward the memorial table where Eleanor’s candles still flickered. ""Let me introduce you to the real owner of this house.""
Moreau frowned, exchanging a guarded look with his partner, but stepped across the threshold. His eyes immediately caught Eleanor’s portrait, the white lilies, and the gold-bordered death certificate sitting beneath the glass.
""Eleanor Morrison passed away three months ago,"" I said, handing Moreau the folder of legal documents Arthur had prepared. ""Before she died, she had Julian investigated by the Manhattan District Attorney's office. This document shows that any signature Julian produced in Canada pledging this property was forged using a power of attorney that had been revoked two years prior. The New York Supreme Court has already issued an injunction voiding any international claims against this title.""
Moreau flipped through the pages with clinical speed. His eyes narrowed as he read the signatures of two state judges and the lead investigator of the financial crimes division. The air in the foyer grew thick and silent.
""Julian told us his mother was bedridden and awaiting his signature to finalize the transfer,"" Moreau said softly, his knuckles whitening against the paper.
""Julian lied to you to save his own skin,"" I said. ""He brought his mistress and his baby to New York hoping to throw me out on the street, take whatever cash was left in Eleanor’s personal accounts, and leave you holding an invalid deed. If you attempt to seize this property, you aren't fighting a grieving widow. You are fighting the State of New York. And my attorney has already filed notice with federal authorities regarding cross-border wire fraud.""
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Moreau closed the folder with a sharp snap. He looked at Eleanor’s picture, then at me. ""Where is Julian now?""
""He checked into a budget motel by LaGuardia Airport an hour ago,"" I replied, handing him a handwritten slip of paper with the room number Julian’s caller ID had betrayed. ""He has twenty thousand dollars in cash in his briefcase. Tell him Elena sent you to collect the first installment.""
