Chapter 22
Vincent
"Yeah?"
"We have a problem." The voice was distorted, mechanical. The leader of the crew I'd hired to grab Angelina. "Your payment didn't clear."
My blood went cold. "What are you talking about? I wired the money over."
"You wired money from an account that's now frozen. The transfer bounced. Which means you owe us two million dollars, DeLuca. Plus expenses."
"I'll get you the money. Give me forty-eight hours."
"You don't have forty-eight hours. You have twenty-four. And if we don't see payment by then?" A pause. "We kill your wife and son as payment after we kill the Moretti girl."
The line went dead. I sat there in the dark, my heart hammering, trying to think. The account was frozen. How the fuck was the account frozen? I pulled out my laptop and logged into my offshore banking portal.
Account Status: FROZEN - Contact Administrator
All of them. Every single account I had. Frozen.
I tried my backup accounts. My emergency funds. The shell company accounts I'd set up three years ago. All frozen.
"Fuck. FUCK!"
I didn’t know if this was Moretti or the fucking Feds. I called the Vitale family attorney who'd gotten me out on bail.
"Vincent, do you have any idea what time it is?"
"My accounts are frozen. All of them. I need you to help me unfreeze them. Now."
A long pause. "I can't do that."
"What do you mean you can't do that?"
"The Vitale family has officially severed ties with you, Vincent. As of six hours ago, you're no longer under our protection. Which means your accounts, your assets, everything tied to family resources have all been locked down. Same for your DeLuca ties."
"You can't do that! I'm family!"
"You were family. Until you went after Desmond’s wife, violating the treaty between the Vitales and the Morettis." His voice went cold. "Beniamino made it clear that you were cut off from the DeLucas, too. You're on your own."
He hung up. I tried calling back. The number rang busy. I tried calling my cousin in the Vitale organization. Busy. My contacts in Florida. Disconnected or busy. Everyone had cut me off.
I sat there in the dark, the reality of my situation sinking in. Abandoned and hunted. I had less than twenty-four hours to come up with two million dollars or the people I'd hired to kidnap Angelina would kill her and come for me next. I needed money. Cash. Something liquid I could move fast.
My investments. I had nearly three million in stocks, bonds, real estate investments. If I could flip them… I started making calls.
My broker's office didn't open until 9 AM. I tried his cell. Voicemail.
I tried the emergency trading desk. "I'm sorry, Mr. DeLuca, but your accounts have been flagged. We can't process any transactions without compliance approval."
"Flagged by who?"
"I can't disclose that information. You'll need to speak with our legal department during business hours."
Everyone hung up on me.
By 4 AM, I was pacing the motel room, chain-smoking, trying to think. They couldn't touch my physical assets. The cash I'd hidden. The safe deposit boxes.
I grabbed my keys and headed out to my rental car, paid for with the last of my available credit, and drove to the Wells Fargo branch where I kept my primary safe deposit box.
The bank didn't open until 9 AM. I waited in the parking lot with my hands shaking. At 8:55, a manager arrived to open. I was the first one through the door.
"I need to access my safe deposit box," I said. "Number 347."
She checked her computer. Frowned. "I'm sorry, Mr. DeLuca, but that box has been seized."
"Seized? By who?"
"Federal agents. Yesterday afternoon. They had a warrant." She showed me the paperwork on official letterhead, judge's signature, everything legal and binding.
My safe deposit box containing $500,000 in cash and bearer bonds was gone. I tried my backup box at Chase. Also seized. My third box at Bank of America. Seized. Someone had tipped off the Feds. Someone with enough power to get warrants issued and executed in less than twenty-four hours.
I drove back to the motel in a daze, my mind spinning. No cash. No accounts. No family backing. No way to pay the kidnappers. I was fucked. My phone rang. The distorted voice again.
"Status on our payment, DeLuca?"
"I need more time. My accounts were frozen, my assets seized."
"Not our problem. Clock's ticking."
"Wait! Please. I can get the money. I just need to liquidate some investments. One day. Give me one day and I'll have everything."
Silence. "One day. But the price just went up. Three million now. You have until 6 PM tomorrow to wire it to the account we'll send you. Miss that deadline and we’re done talking."
"I'll have it. I swear."
"You better. Because if you don't, we're going to post the video of what we do to your wife and son on every dark web forum we can find. Then we’ll let the whole world watch Angelina Moretti die and make sure that you’re blamed for it." The voice went colder. "And then we're coming for you."
They hung up.
I sat in that motel room, staring at the wall, trying to figure out how to get three million dollars.
If I could get to my broker tomorrow morning, convince him to override the compliance flag, I had a better chance at this. It would work. It had to work. Because the alternative was death.
I just wanted what should have been mine.
The company. The power. The respect. Was that so wrong?
I pulled out a bottle of cheap whiskey I'd bought at a gas station and took a long drink.
Tomorrow. I'd fix this tomorrow. Then. I could start over.
Build something new. I just had to survive the next thirty hours.
My phone buzzed with a text from an unknown number:
UNKNOWN
You have nowhere left to run, Vincent. Enjoy your last day.
I threw the phone across the room, watching it shatter against the wall.
Fuck Desmond Moretti. Fuck the Vitales for abandoning me.
Fuck everyone. I'd get that money. I'd pay off the kidnappers.
And then I'd disappear so thoroughly that no one would ever find me.
I took another drink and tried to sleep.
Tomorrow would be better. It had to be.
The next morning, I was waiting outside my broker's office when they opened at 8 AM.
"I need to liquidate everything," I told Richard, my broker of fifteen years. "Stocks, bonds, mutual funds, everything. I need it in cash by end of day."
Richard looked uncomfortable. "Vincent, there are processes. Compliance checks. Large liquidations require—"
"I don't care about processes. I need that money today. Now."
"I can't."
I pulled out the gun I'd bought from a pawn shop yesterday. Didn't point it at him. Just set it on his desk.
"Three million dollars, Richard. By 4 PM. Or I start making very bad decisions."
His face went white. "Vincent, you can't really think that you’ll get away with whatever it is that you’ve done."
"I do." I leaned forward. "I know where you live, Richard. I know your wife picks up your kids from school every day at 2:30. I know that even if you can’t liquidate this, that you have three million laying around somewhere that you can pay me to leave you the fuck alone."
"Okay." He held up his hands. "Okay. I'll do it. Just put the gun away."
I put it back in my jacket. "Smart man. I'll be back at 4 PM. Have it ready."
I left before he could call security. Now I just had to wait. I could make this work. I drove to a different motel, staying paranoid, and tried to rest.
My phone rang at 2 PM.
"Mr. DeLuca?" A voice I didn't recognize.
"Who is this?"
"Someone who wants to help you." A pause. "I'm calling on behalf of Desmond Moretti. He knows where you are. He knows about the deadline. And he's offering you a deal."
My stomach dropped. "What kind of deal?"
"Turn yourself in. Tell him where his wife is being held. And he'll make your death quick. Painless." The voice was almost kind. "Otherwise, when he finds you, he will find you, and it's going to take days for you to die. Do you understand?"
I hung up and threw the phone. They fucking knew. But they didn't know exactly where I was. If they did, they'd already be here. Which meant I still had time.
Three more hours until I had the money. I could still make this work. I just had to stay hidden a little longer.
At 4:45 PM, I walked back into Richard's office.
He looked terrible. Pale. Sweating. Terrified.
"Do you have it?" I asked.
"Yes." He gestured to a briefcase on his desk. "Three million. Cashier's checks, all made out to bearer. Fully liquid."
I opened the briefcase and counted. Three million dollars in negotiable instruments.
"Good man, Richard." I closed the briefcase. "Forget you ever saw me."
"Vincent—the police are going to ask—"
"Tell them whatever you want. I'll be long gone." I headed for the door. "Thanks for your help."
I made it to my car with the briefcase, my heart pounding with relief. I had the money. I could pay the kidnappers. This nightmare was almost over. My phone rang. The distorted voice.
"Change of plans," they said. "We found a buyer who'll pay more than you will. In exchange, they’ll have the Moretti girl, find out where your wife and son are, and all the information I have on you."
"What? No! I have the money. Three million, just like we agreed."
"Desmond Moretti offered us five million. Plus immunity from any future retaliation." A pause. "Sorry, Vincent. Business is business."
"You can't!"
"We're meeting him tonight at midnight to make the exchange. The location is the old Boeing plant in Everett. If you want your deal, come up with the money quickly. If not, maybe Moretti will kill you quick."
They hung up. I sat in my car, the briefcase full of useless money on the passenger seat, and felt my world collapse.
They'd betrayed me. Sold me out to Moretti.
And now Angelina would survive. Would testify against me.
Would make sure I spent the rest of my life in prison.
Unless her asshole of a husband found me first.
Or I ran. Right now. Took this money and disappeared into Mexico or further south. Changed my identity. Started over. I pulled out my phone and made a call to the one contact who might still take my money.
"I need a favor," I said when they answered. "And I'm willing to pay very, very well."
By 11 PM, I had what I needed. 11:30, I was parked outside the old Boeing plant, watching for Moretti's arrival. So was someone else.
One way or another, this ended tonight.