Chapter 7 - THE DEAD UNCLE WHO OWNED HALF THE ROOM
Marcus Steves was not dead.
Larkin knew that much.
Thomas knew more.
Their uncle disappeared after Larkin’s father took control of the syndicate.
A boat exploded off Long Island.
No body recovered.
The family declared him dead.
Apparently wealthy criminal families handled death with disturbing flexibility.
“Why would Marcus return now?” Penelope asked.
Thomas poured himself whiskey.
“Because Larkin cleaned house.”
“You mean imprisoned people.”
“Yes.”
Larkin ignored him.
“Marcus believed the organization should remain exactly what it was.”
“Violent?”
“Profitable.”
Thomas lifted his glass.
“Those were synonyms to Uncle Marcus.”
Penelope looked at page 412.
“He’s framing both of you.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Larkin answered.
“To trigger a war.”
If federal investigators discovered millions in criminal transfers linked to Larkin, his legitimacy disappeared.
Rival crews would assume weakness.
Thomas would appear involved.
Both cousins could be removed at once.
Marcus could return as the man who “saved” the organization.
Penelope closed the ledger.
“Then my mother has been tracking him.”
“For years,” Larkin said.
“Why not go to authorities?”
“Maybe she did.”
Penelope thought of Eleanor.
Careful.
Methodical.
Never dramatic.
If her mother had spent fifteen years surviving, she had a reason for staying hidden.
Then Penelope remembered something.
“My student loans.”
Thomas blinked.
“What?”
“Ninety thousand dollars.”
Larkin stared.
“This is an odd time for budgeting.”
“No.”
Penelope stood.
“My mother planned everything. If she was secretly helping me, why let me bury myself in debt?”
She called her loan servicer.
The answer arrived after authentication.
The original lender had sold the debt two years earlier.
“To whom?” Penelope asked.
The representative named an investment company.
Penelope recognized it.
North Ash Capital.
One of the shell companies in Eleanor’s ledger.
Her stomach dropped.
“My loans are owned by the people moving money into Larkin’s accounts.”
Thomas laughed.
“That’s extremely personal.”
Penelope did not.
She pulled payment records.
For two years, every monthly payment she made had gone into a company linked to Marcus.
She had unknowingly been sending money into the same network her mother was investigating.
“Why?”
Larkin asked.
Penelope suddenly understood.
“Tracking.”
“What?”
“My loan account is a marker.”
If Eleanor could monitor the shell company, Penelope’s regular payments proved she remained in Manhattan.
Stable.
Alive.
In the job Eleanor placed her in.
Her debt had been turned into a breadcrumb trail.
Penelope felt furious.
And strangely loved.
Her mother had watched from the shadows without contacting her.
Terrible.
Protective.
Typical Eleanor.
Then Larkin’s security chief entered.
“We have movement.”
One of the shell-company accounts had just sent $4.6 million.
Destination?
A charity hosting the Solstice Gala.
The money would appear to implicate the gala organizers and Larkin simultaneously.
But the transfer carried something else.
A memo field.
P.W. DELIVERY CONFIRMED.
Penelope stared.
“Delivery?”
Then her phone vibrated.
Unknown number.
A photograph arrived.
Her apartment door.
Open.
Someone had entered.
The next photograph showed the inside of her bedroom.
On her pillow sat a small wooden box Penelope had not seen since she was thirteen.
Her mother’s jewelry box.
May you like
Under the photograph was one message:
COME HOME ALONE IF YOU WANT ELEANOR ALIVE.
