Chapter 21
MARI
Ten a.m. finds me buried in a vendor list I’ve been combing for days.
The office hums with the same quiet chaos as every other day, but a tight knot pulls in my chest I can’t quite name.
Maybe it’s that Lev isn’t here. He’s off doing God knows what, and I don’t ask.
I focus on work instead. It’s the one thing I can control.
My eyes start to swim, so I open a fresh workbook and pull three years’ worth of vendor records, tagging each new payee by month, then mapping them against bank timestamps and batch IDs.
For me, numbers tell a story. And eventually that story should name who has stolen millions from Levcon.
I run the numbers slowly, check the data carefully, and realize that six months ago the embezzler got bolder.
At first they skimmed small amounts from normal vendor disbursements.
Six months ago, though, they started taking much larger pulls right before the end of the quarter, then burying them in fake vendor records.
I open my research notes and sort the transactions by who approved them. The name pops up on my screen, big and bold, and I fight to keep my composure. I can’t accuse him without absolute, solid evidence. Two approvals could be a coincidence.
I keep digging, pulling audits from other vendors.
I sit there for two hours, combing through approvals, routing numbers, invoices.
He’s been so careful about it, so clean that it was easy to miss.
But now that I’ve found the pattern, I can’t unsee it, and I know without a shadow of a doubt that I’ve found the guy.
Quietly and carefully, I export a PDF summary and stash it in a folder named Q3 Archive – Receipts just in case he’s watching me somehow.
I password-protect the document and send it to my personal email account with a boring, easy-to-ignore subject line. Then I print three key pages from the document, highlight the transactions, and slip them into a bland manila folder, willing my hands to stop shaking.
I text Lev.
Need to talk to you. Right now. Call me ASAP
There are no dots and no sign he’s read the text. I send another message.
It’s urgent.
I’m too keyed up to wait. The office suddenly feels suffocating. I just need to clear my head. I hold the folder against my chest, turn off the computer, and tuck my laptop into my bag. I get up and force myself to walk at a normal pace so I don’t look suspicious.
I pass the reception desk and nod at the receptionist as if everything is fine.
The elevator doors open, and I slip in and hit the button for the lobby.
Thom or Jareth should be downstairs, ready to jump in as soon as they see me.
With any luck, I’ll be in an SUV in less than a minute.
Then I can give this folder to Lev, and he can do what needs to be done.
Just as the elevator doors are about to close, a hand slides between them, stopping them short.
The sensors catch and the panels bounce back.
Marcus steps in, a soft smile on his face.
His suit is as crisp as always, a freshly pressed pocket square peeking from his breast pocket, and a needlessly expensive tie around his neck.
“Hey, Mari,” he says casually. “Got a minute?”
“I was heading down, actually.” I smile sheepishly. “I’m not feeling very well. I’m sure you understand. Maybe we can talk tomorrow?”
“It won’t take long,” he says, still smiling.
When the elevator doors open, he holds them with his palm and glances at someone. One of my guards, I’m sure.
“I just need five,” Marcus says, and I peek out to see Thom frowning at me.
I open my mouth to say no, to tell Thom to intervene, but Marcus coolly shuts the door, his face cut off mid-frown.
He presses the emergency button to make sure we won’t be interrupted, then turns to me.
He looks calm and patient, but I don’t miss the sinister ripple of frustration under the surface.
“You’ve been pulling old batches,” he says carefully, just on the wrong side of friendly.
“That’s my job,” I say as calmly as I can.
He reaches into his suit jacket and slips the gun from his jacket and presses it against my back, careful not to draw the cameras’ attention.
“Don’t you dare scream,” he says quietly, too soft for the camera to pick up. “Don’t try to run. We’re going on a ride.”
“Lev knows,” I bluff. “I texted him. He’s on his way now.”
He laughs casually, as if I’ve told a harmless joke. “He’ll never find you,” he says.
“You won’t get away with this,” I shoot right back, braver than I feel.
He tilts his head and narrows his eyes at me, still wearing that self-satisfied smirk.
“I already have.”
He pulls at a panel I’ve never noticed and presses a button.
The elevator moves again, inexplicably going down.
B1 flickers on the screen. Then B2. When the doors open, I know we’re underground.
I can smell iron and dust, metallic at the back of my throat.
All I can see is concrete and fluorescent lights. And no guard.
“Walk,” he commands.
He takes my elbow, guiding me out of the elevator in a way that I’m sure looks polite.
The pressure against my skin is anything but.
We pass an empty glass security booth. The feed on the monitor loops an empty hallway.
Marcus swipes a card, and we go through a door, where a black SUV waits with its engine running.
The driver wears a cap pulled low so I can’t see his face.
“Marcus,” I plead, because I have no other moves left. “You don’t have to do this. Let’s just go back upstairs and wait for Lev. I’m sure this is all a mistake.”
He smiles coldly at me. “No,” he answers, and the word is almost gentle. “You just had to go and pull the wrong thread. You couldn’t leave well enough alone.”
Before I realize what’s happening, he yanks my bag off my shoulder. I grip the strap, an automatic reflex, but he’s much quicker and much stronger. Pain bites across my fingers, forcing me to let go. He throws the bag into a gray trash can, where it lands with a thud.
“Get in,” he says, opening the door to the SUV.
I know that if he gets me in a car and drives me to an unknown location, I’m as good as dead. My mind races back to every terrifying scenario Lev walked me through, trying to convince me of the importance of following his very strict guidelines. A lot of good those did.
He expected his enemy to be on the outside, to be with another Bratva or even with the Feds.
I heard him and Yuri talking long and low about all the possible scenarios.
And sometimes there was Marcus, in the penthouse or in Lev’s office, always part of the inner circle, always a fixture in the planning of my safety.
Marcus was trusted enough for my guards to stand down. I have no idea how Marcus will spin this, but I’m sure I’ll be long dead before Lev even suspects that one of his most trusted advisors is the man who’s stolen millions of dollars from him.
I plant my feet against the hard concrete, my last stand.
He moves faster, though, shoving me forward into the car.
I stumble, hitting my shin on the footwell, and brace myself against the seat.
I try to regain my balance, to pivot and face him, to at least get some hits in.
I don’t want to go down without a fight.
He anticipates my move and brings his palm down on the crown of my head.
He grabs me by the collar, his other hand wrapping around my waist as he lifts me into the car.
I struggle, channeling every ounce of strength I have into fighting him.
He loosens his grip on my waist, and I feel him lift his arm.
The butt of the gun smashes into the top of my skull, and pain sears through my head. All the fight leaves me at once, and my body collapses. He lifts his arm again, and on the second impact, everything goes black.