Chapter 7 - THE RUSSIAN MOLE
The blare of the bank alarm seemed to fade into the background as the reality of the photographs set in.
Vanessa Laurent. The polished, arrogant woman who had humiliated me in front of forty millionaires. The woman who had orchestrated the theft of thirty million dollars using the names of grieving widows. She wasn't just a corrupt executive. She was a mole for the Russian mafia.
“She orchestrated the federal indictment against my father,” Carmine whispered, staring at a second photograph showing Vanessa handing a thick file folder to a man in an FBI windbreaker. “She fed them the evidence to weaken the Orsini family, and then used the charity to siphon our remaining assets straight to Volkov.”
“Boss, we have to go. Now,” Marcus yelled, grabbing Carmine’s shoulder. Red and blue police lights were flashing through the shattered front windows of the credit union.
Carmine didn't hesitate. He grabbed the stack of photographs and shoved them into his coat pocket. He grabbed my arm, and Marcus grabbed Natalie’s.
“Out the back,” Marcus barked.
We sprinted through the staff breakroom and kicked open the emergency exit, spilling into the rain-slicked alley just as police cruisers screeched to a halt at the front entrance. We scrambled into the idling armored SUV.
“Drive,” Carmine ordered his driver. “Get us to the safe house in Queens. Do not take the highways.”
The SUV peeled out of the alley, tires squealing on the wet asphalt, disappearing into the labyrinth of Brooklyn side streets before the police could secure the perimeter.
I leaned back against the leather seat, my chest heaving. The adrenaline was starting to wear off, replaced by a bone-deep exhaustion. I looked at Natalie. She was shaking, staring out the window at the passing streetlights.
“Are you okay, honey?” I asked, reaching for her hand.
Natalie gripped my fingers tightly. “Mom, if Vanessa is working with the Russian mob, and she knows we have the journal... we’re dead. We’re just normal people. We can't fight them.”
“You aren't fighting them,” Carmine said from the front seat, his voice calm and authoritative. “I am.”
“She called you a dying empire,” Graham Ashford pointed out quietly. He had remained remarkably composed for a commercial real estate developer caught in a mafia war. “If she has Volkov’s backing, and thirty million dollars of your money... how do you fight that?”
“By taking away her leverage,” Carmine said. He pulled the stack of photos out of his pocket and turned on the overhead reading light.
He flipped past the pictures of Vanessa and Volkov. He stopped on the last photograph in the stack.
“Thorne didn't just photograph Vanessa,” Carmine said.
I leaned forward. The photograph was grainy, taken at night through a chain-link fence. It showed the Riverfront Contracting construction site. In the center of the frame, several men in hazmat suits were illegally burying dozens of rusted steel barrels into the foundation of what would become the new industrial park.
The barrels were marked with the bright yellow symbol for toxic bio-waste.
“That’s how Daniel got sick,” I whispered, a fresh wave of nausea hitting me. “They were burying illegal chemical waste on the job site. He was breathing that dust for months.”
“My father’s men,” Carmine said, his jaw tight. “He took a payoff from a chemical company to dispose of their waste off the books. And he poisoned his own crew to do it.”
Carmine looked at me, his dark eyes filled with profound shame. “Mrs. Cole, I swear on my life, I didn't know about the dumping. But it’s my family’s sin. And I will pay for it.”
“How?” I asked bitterly. “By killing Vanessa? That doesn't bring Daniel back.”
“No. By giving you the power to tear it all down,” Carmine said.
He reached into his breast pocket and pulled out his phone. He dialed a number and put it on speaker.
It rang twice.
“Orsini,” a gruff, tired voice answered.
“Agent Miller,” Carmine said.
I gasped. He was calling the FBI.
“Carmine Orsini calling my direct line at midnight,” the federal agent said, a note of suspicion clear in his voice. “To what do I owe the pleasure? Finally ready to confess?”
“I have a package for you, Miller,” Carmine said smoothly. “Proof of a thirty-million-dollar money laundering operation run through a 501(c)(3) charity. Photographic evidence of an illegal toxic dumping site that caused a fatal cancer cluster among union workers. And documented proof of collusion between a Russian syndicate boss and an American citizen.”
The line was dead silent for a long moment.
“If this is a joke, Orsini, I’ll have you arrested for obstruction before sunrise,” Miller finally said.
“It’s not a joke,” Carmine said. “But I have conditions.”
“You don't get to negotiate, Carmine.”
“I do, because I’m handing you the Russian syndicate on a silver platter,” Carmine countered. “Condition one: Full immunity for Marianne and Natalie Cole. Their identities were stolen to facilitate the laundering. Condition two: The FBI raids the Orsini Family Foundation tomorrow morning and seizes all assets to pay restitution to the families affected by the Riverfront toxic dumping.”
Graham Ashford stared at Carmine in utter disbelief. “You’re dismantling your own charity?”
“I’m dismantling the lie,” Carmine said softly to Graham, before speaking back into the phone. “Do we have a deal, Miller?”
“Where is the package?” Miller asked.
“I’ll text you an address,” Carmine said. “Bring a tactical team. Volkov’s men are already moving.”
Carmine hung up the phone.
He turned in his seat to look at me. “We have to lure Vanessa out. If the FBI raids her now, Volkov will just hide her. She wants the journal. We have to give her a chance to get it.”
“It’s a trap,” I realized.
“Yes,” Carmine nodded. “But for the trap to work, she has to believe she’s winning. She has to believe she broke us.”
Suddenly, Marcus’s radio cracked to life.
“Boss, we got a tail,” the driver said, his eyes darting to the rearview mirror.
We all turned around.
Two blocky black SUVs with no license plates were speeding down the wet avenue behind us, closing the distance rapidly.
“Volkov’s men,” Marcus cursed, drawing his weapon.
May you like
Before Carmine could issue an order, the lead Russian SUV accelerated, slamming violently into our rear bumper.
The heavy armored car fishtailed, the tires screaming against the wet pavement. I grabbed Natalie, pulling her down into my lap as the world spun wildly out of control.
