Chapter 39
The man with the binoculars grunted. It didn't matter that the movie star was still alive. She was of no consequence. What mattered was that the witness was dead—saved him the trouble of doing it himself.
Hank Singleton had been so full of ego and desperate need to be someone that waving a few million dollars in the dead sap's face was like teasing a puppy with a spoonful of peanut butter.
The man from The Vanguard dialed a number. Someone on the other end picked up before he heard a ring.
"Fallout?" the other man asked.
"None," he said, packing up his binoculars.
"Witnesses?"
"None." He took his time heading to the fire escape, no longer needing a view of the movie set four blocks away. "Did you get the audio?" He was referring to the recorder app running on the burner phone he'd given Hank Singleton.
"Downloading now. Anything of importance?"
"Not really."
And that's how The Vanguard looked at most things. Very few things were of importance. But they recorded everything, just in case.
He descended the fire escape steps casually. "Do you think this will do it?"
"It might."
The man nodded to himself.
If Byron Dane was watching, he'd have to slip out of the shadows soon.
Because the pressure The Vanguard was willing to apply had no limits.
Money didn't matter. Life didn't matter.
Only power mattered. And for now, the man walking out of the four-story building and onto the sidewalk—along with his colleagues—was willing to press, wait, and watch. It was only a matter of time.