Chapter 6 - THE NUMBERS ON THE SUN
The back of the child’s drawing wasn’t blank.
Scrawled across the rough construction paper in dark, precise ink were columns of numbers. They were written in Victor’s mother’s unmistakable handwriting.
Long, complex sequences of digits. Routing numbers. International SWIFT codes. Account names referencing banks in Zurich, the Cayman Islands, and Luxembourg.
“Answer one question, find two more,” I whispered, my hands trembling as I held the waxy paper.
We knew the Vales were broke. We knew Celeste was desperate to secure the St. Bridget’s property to save her family from bankruptcy.
But looking at these offshore account numbers, the horrifying reversal clicked into place.
The Vales weren’t just broke because of bad investments.
They were broke because Mrs. Moretti had stolen all their money twenty-five years ago.
When Arthur Vale murdered Donato Moretti in 1996, Victor’s mother hadn’t just hidden the murder weapon. She had systematically, quietly drained the Vale family’s illicit offshore accounts, bleeding their criminal empire dry as revenge. She had hidden the account routing information on the back of a child’s drawing, knowing no one would ever look twice at a piece of crayon art pinned to a corkboard in an orphanage playroom.
Celeste didn’t want the St. Bridget’s building for commercial real estate. She wanted to tear it down to find the account numbers and reclaim her family’s stolen fortune.
“Margaret!”
A voice roared from the banquet hall.
I snapped my head up. Through the open doors of the service elevator, the chaos in the dining room had reached a boiling point.
Gabriel had managed to wrestle the gun away from one caterer, but three more had surrounded Victor. Victor stood by the shattered head table, bleeding from a cut on his cheek, his hands raised defensively.
Celeste stood behind her armed men, her hair disheveled, her mask of elegance completely destroyed. She looked like a cornered animal.
“Bring me the envelope!” Celeste shrieked, pointing her gun at Victor’s chest. “And give me the boy! He knows where Richard hid the rest of the papers!”
She was looking directly at the service elevator. She saw me. She saw Leo peeking out from behind my skirt.
I had a split second to make a decision. I could hit the basement button and try to run. But Richard was bleeding to death on the floor, and Celeste’s men would undoubtedly shoot into the elevator before the doors closed.
I couldn’t leave Ruth. I couldn’t leave Gabriel. I couldn’t leave Victor.
I stepped out of the elevator, holding the child’s drawing high in the air.
“Is this what you’re looking for, Celeste?” I yelled.
My voice echoed sharply, cutting through the shouting and the scuffling. Everyone froze. Celeste’s eyes locked onto the piece of construction paper in my hand.
“The accounts,” Celeste breathed, her eyes widening with a manic hunger. “Bring it to me. Now.”
“Don’t do it, Margaret!” Gabriel shouted, struggling against the man holding him back.
I didn’t move toward Celeste. Instead, I walked directly toward Victor. I moved with slow, deliberate steps, my eyes locked on the guns pointed in our direction. Leo clung to my side, his small face buried in my skirt, but he walked bravely with me.
I handed the drawing to Victor.
Victor looked at the crayon house. Then he flipped it over and looked at the numbers.
A slow, dark, terrifying smile spread across his bruised face.
“My mother,” Victor said softly, profound reverence in his voice. “She didn’t just beat your father, Celeste. She destroyed him. She took his money, his pride, and his future, and she hid it behind a child’s smile.”
“Shut up!” Celeste screamed, stepping forward and pressing her gun directly against Victor’s forehead. “It’s over, Victor. Give me the paper, or I blow your brains all over your mother’s anniversary cake.”
Victor didn’t flinch. He didn’t even blink.
“You’re right, Celeste,” Victor said calmly. “It is over. But you’re a little late to the punchline.”
Suddenly, the heavy arched windows of the banquet hall flashed with strobing bursts of red and blue light.
Sirens wailed in the distance, growing louder by the second, screeching up the long, winding driveway of the Moretti estate.
Celeste’s head snapped toward the windows in panic.
“Your extraction team must be using police cruisers,” Victor mocked lightly.
“You called the cops?” Celeste sneered, her hand shaking violently on the grip of her gun. “You broke the code? A Moretti calling the FBI? You’re pathetic.”
“I didn’t break the code,” Victor said, his voice dropping into a deadly whisper. “I modernized it. I’ve known you were laundering money through Vale Development for six months. I let you plan this entire dinner. I let you bring your armed caterers into my home. Because I needed the Feds to catch you in the act of attempted murder and extortion. It’s the only way to ensure you and your father go away for the rest of your miserable lives.”
The reversal was absolute.
Victor hadn’t been blind to Celeste’s manipulations. He hadn’t been blinded by love or lust. He had played the long game, using her own arrogance to lay the perfect trap.
Outside, tires screeched against the wet pavement. Megaphones crackled to life, demanding the surrender of everyone inside.
Celeste’s men realized the game was lost. Two of them dropped their weapons and raised their hands, backing away toward the walls.
But Celeste was too far gone. Her empire was crumbling, her father’s legacy was ruined, and the money was literally in Victor’s hands.
She let out a guttural scream of rage.
May you like
She didn’t aim at Victor.
She lunged sideways, her hand shooting out like a viper, and grabbed little Leo by the collar of his oversized suit.
