Chapter 38
LEDGER
Dante’s nursery is quiet except for the soft sound of his breathing through the baby monitor.
I stand at the window of my office, looking down at the city I burned trying to find them. The scars are still visible—twelve properties reduced to ash, vacant lots where thriving businesses used to be. The news stopped covering it after the first week, but everyone in Vegas knows what happened.
Ledger Volkov went to war.
And now I’m paying the price.
“They’re here,” Silas says from the doorway. “Conference room. Your lawyers are already inside.”
I check my watch. 10:00 AM. Right on time.
“How do I look?” I ask, adjusting my tie.
“Like a man about to negotiate his way into federal prison.”
“Good. That’s exactly what I am.”
The conference room is full when I enter.
My legal team—four attorneys from the most expensive firm in the city—sits on one side of the table.
On the other side, federal prosecutors. FBI agents.
An assistant US attorney who looks young enough to be fresh out of law school but has the eyes of someone who’s seen too much.
“Mr. Volkov.” The lead prosecutor stands. Margaret Sullivan—fifties, gray hair pulled back in a severe bun, a reputation for never losing a case. “Thank you for coming.”
“Did I have a choice?”
“No.” She gestures to a chair. “Please. Sit.”
I sit. My lawyers flank me on either side—Gerald Rothstein, lead counsel, and his team. The best money can buy.
Sullivan opens a folder thick with documents.
“Let me be direct, Mr. Volkov. We’ve been investigating you for the past two months.
Grand jury convened six weeks ago. We have testimony from over forty witnesses.
Surveillance footage. Financial records.
Phone logs. Physical evidence from twelve crime scenes. ”
“I’m aware.”
“Are you aware that we have enough evidence to charge you with fifty-three counts of murder? Twelve counts of arson? Racketeering, conspiracy, weapons trafficking, and about two dozen other federal charges?”
“I assumed as much.”
“If we prosecute you on all counts, you’re looking at multiple life sentences. No possibility of parole. You’ll die in federal prison.”
Gerald clears his throat. “Ms. Sullivan, if you’ve brought us here just to threaten my client—”
“I’m not threatening. I’m stating facts.
” Sullivan closes the folder. “Mr. Volkov went on a rampage that made national news. Fifty-three people dead in three days. The city looked like a war zone. We have him on camera at six different crime scenes. We have ballistics matching his weapons. We have witnesses who watched him personally kill seven people.”
“Alleged witnesses,” Gerald says smoothly. “Many of whom have criminal records themselves and may be motivated to lie.”
“We also have financial records showing Mr. Volkov funneling money through shell corporations. Import manifests documenting illegal weapons shipments. Bank transfers to known criminals. A paper trail going back fifteen years.” Sullivan leans forward.
“We don’t need witnesses, Mr. Rothstein.
We have enough physical evidence to convict without a single person testifying. ”
“Then why are we here?” I ask. “Why not just arrest me and proceed to trial?”
“Because there are complications.” The assistant US attorney speaks up for the first time.
Young, but his voice is steady. “Your legitimate businesses employ over five thousand people in the Las Vegas metropolitan area, not to mention those in New York and Chicago. Your hotels generate over two billion dollars annually in revenue. Your real estate developments have revitalized entire neighborhoods. Your tech investments have brought hundreds of high-paying jobs to the region.”
“You’re saying I’m too valuable to prosecute?”
“We’re saying that destroying you completely would have significant economic consequences for the city.” Sullivan takes over again. “If we seize all your assets, shut down your businesses, thousands of people lose their jobs. The tax revenue disappears. The economic impact would be devastating.”
Gerald senses an opening. “My client has been a model corporate citizen. His businesses are entirely legitimate, properly licensed, and fully compliant with all regulations. Whatever personal activities he may have engaged in during a moment of extreme duress—”
“A moment?” Sullivan’s eyebrow raises. “Three days of systematic murder is not a moment, Mr. Rothstein.”
“My client’s pregnant wife was kidnapped by a known organized crime family. Held captive for days. Forced into premature labor in an abandoned warehouse. He did what any husband and father would do—he rescued his family.”
“By burning down half the city.”
“By eliminating a threat to his family’s safety.
” Gerald pulls out his own folder. “The Kozlov family has a documented history of violence. Viktor Kozlov kidnapped and tortured Mr. Volkov’s son five years ago.
Dmitri Kozlov orchestrated the kidnapping of Mrs. Volkov with the explicit intent of murdering her and her unborn child.
My client’s actions, while perhaps extreme, were taken in defense of his family. ”
“Defense of family doesn’t cover executing over fifty people.”
“It does when those people were actively participating in or enabling a kidnapping and attempted murder.” Gerald slides a document across the table.
“We’re prepared to argue self-defense and defense of others.
We have expert witnesses. Trauma psychologists who will testify about the extreme emotional distress Mr. Volkov was under.
We’ll drag this trial out for two years, and we’ll make it very public.
By the time we’re done, Mr. Volkov will look like a devoted husband and father who did what he had to do to save his family. ”
Sullivan stares at the document but doesn’t pick it up. “You think you can win this case?”
“I think we can create enough reasonable doubt to hang a jury. And I think the publicity surrounding the trial will be very bad for the FBI. The story won’t be about a criminal who murdered fifty-three people.
It’ll be about a father who saved his pregnant wife from a kidnapping.
” Gerald leans back. “Is that really the headline you want?”
The room is silent for a long moment.
Then Sullivan speaks. “There is another option.”
“I’m listening.”
“We offer Mr. Volkov a deal. He pleads guilty to federal racketeering charges. One count. He agrees to cooperate with ongoing investigations into other organized crime families—provide intelligence, testify when necessary, help us dismantle criminal operations throughout the southwest.”
“In exchange for?”
“Two years in federal prison. Minimum security facility. His family receives full immunity from prosecution. His legitimate businesses remain operational under his son’s management. His assets are not seized.”
“Two years?” I say. “For fifty-three murders?”
“For one count of racketeering. Everything else disappears if you cooperate.” Sullivan taps the folder.
“The alternative is we proceed with prosecution on all counts. You spend the rest of your life in prison. Your family is investigated. Your businesses are destroyed. Your son grows up visiting his father in a maximum-security facility.”
Gerald leans close and whispers in my ear. “It’s a good deal, Ledger. Better than I expected. Take it.”
Two years. For saving my family. For doing what any father would do.
“What kind of cooperation?” I ask.
“Intelligence on rival families. Information about criminal operations. Testimony in cases where your involvement won’t be made public.
” Sullivan pulls out another document. “We’re particularly interested in the Moretti family in Chicago.
The Volkov operations in New York and Moscow.
Distribution networks throughout the southwest.”
“You want me to betray the families I’ve worked with for twenty years.”
“We want you to help us dismantle organized crime in this country. In exchange, you get a very light sentence and your family stays safe.”
“And if I refuse?”
“Then we proceed to trial. And I promise you, Mr. Volkov, you will spend the rest of your life in prison.”
I look at Gerald. He nods slightly. This is the best deal we’re going to get.
“When would I have to report?”
“Forty-eight hours. That gives you time to say goodbye to your family. To put your affairs in order.” Sullivan slides the plea agreement across the table. “Sign this, and the deal is done.”
I pick up the document. Read through the terms. Two years minimum security. Full immunity for Savannah and Alexi. Businesses remain operational. Assets protected.
Everything I built stays intact. All I have to do is give up two years of my life. Two years of watching Dante grow. Two years of sleeping beside Savannah. Two years of being a husband and father.
But if I don’t take this deal, I lose all of it forever.
“I need a moment with my lawyers. Alone.”
Sullivan stands. “Of course. We’ll be right outside.”
The prosecutors and FBI agents file out. The door closes behind them.
Gerald turns to me. “It’s a good deal, Ledger. Maybe the best deal I’ve ever seen for charges this serious.”
“They’re letting me off easy because they need my cooperation.”
“And because prosecuting you would be politically complicated. You’re a major employer, a significant contributor to the local economy.
The city doesn’t want to see you destroyed completely.
” He taps the plea agreement. “Two years is nothing. You’ll be out before Dante starts preschool.
Savannah can run the day-to-day operations.
Alexi handles the legitimate business side. Everything continues.”
“While I sit in prison.”
“While you stay alive and out of a maximum-security facility for the rest of your life. Those are your options.” Gerald’s voice is firm. “Take the deal.”
“Get them back in here.”
Gerald opens the door. The prosecutors return to their seats.
I pick up a pen. Sign the plea agreement without reading it again.
“You have forty-eight hours. Monday morning, eight AM, federal courthouse downtown.” Sullivan takes the signed document. “Don’t be late, Mr. Volkov. And don’t leave the city. You’re under electronic monitoring until you’re in custody.”
“Understood.”
“One more thing.” She pulls out a final document. “You’ll need to wear an ankle monitor until Monday. And you’ll be under house arrest. No leaving your residence except for approved activities.”
“Fine.”
An FBI agent steps forward with the ankle monitor. I extend my leg and let him attach it. The device is small, black, and cold against my skin.
“Congratulations, Mr. Volkov,” Sullivan says. “You just avoided life in prison. I hope you appreciate what a gift that is.”
“I do.”
“Good. Because if you violate any terms of this agreement, we’ll revoke the deal and proceed with the original charges. Are we clear?”
“Crystal.”
They pack up their files and leave. My legal team follows, Gerald promising to handle all the paperwork and logistics.
And then I’m alone in the conference room, an ankle monitor on my leg, two days of freedom left before I report to federal custody.
I pull out my phone and call Savannah.
“Hey,” she answers. “How did it go?”
“It’s done. They gave me a deal.”
She’s quiet for a moment. “How long?”
“Two years. Minimum security. I report Monday morning.”
“Two years.” Her voice is steady, but I can hear the emotion underneath. “Okay. We can do two years.”