Chapter 3 - THE BROTHER WHO DIED TWICE
Stefan Vasic drowned at twenty-nine.
That was the family story.
A yacht accident off Cape Cod.
One body recovered.
Two never found.
Stefan’s was one of them.
The Coast Guard declared him dead after eighteen months.
Damien had been twenty-seven.
He had inherited everything.
Now Gabrielle stood in his kitchen claiming Stefan was alive.
“You’re lying,” Damien said.
Gabrielle took out her phone.
“I wish I were.”
She opened a photograph.
A man leaving a private terminal in Rotterdam.
Taken four months earlier.
Older.
Bearded.
A scar along his jaw.
But unmistakable.
Damien sat down.
Elena had seen Stefan only in photographs.
The resemblance was brutal.
Same shoulders.
Same eyes.
Same impatient tilt of the head.
“Where did you get this?” Damien whispered.
“My firm has been tracking Northstar for years.”
“You own Northstar.”
“No.”
“The money went to your company.”
“My company was used as a pass-through.”
“By whom?”
“Stefan.”
Damien stood.
“My brother doesn’t control my firm.”
“He controls people inside yours.”
Silence.
Ronan looked away.
Elena noticed.
Again.
“Ronan.”
He turned.
“What?”
“You know more.”
He exhaled.
“Viktor suspected Stefan survived.”
Damien slammed both palms onto the table.
“And nobody thought to tell me?”
“Your father had no proof.”
“He had enough to put it in a sealed letter!”
Gabrielle stepped closer.
“He was afraid you would go looking.”
“I would have!”
“Exactly.”
Damien stared at her.
For once, Gabrielle did not look seductive.
She looked exhausted.
“What happened twelve years ago?” Elena asked.
Everyone looked at her.
Good.
Let them.
She had spent too much of her marriage standing at the edge of rooms while Vasic men decided what counted as important.
Gabrielle answered.
“Stefan discovered that Viktor was preparing Damien to take over the ports.”
Damien frowned.
“That was never a secret.”
“No. But Viktor also planned to remove Stefan from every family trust.”
“Why?”
“Because Stefan was laundering money through bonded warehouses.”
Ronan nodded reluctantly.
“Your father found shell companies.”
“Northstar?”
“No. Older ones.”
Damien walked toward the bar but didn’t pour anything.
“What did Stefan do?”
“He confronted Viktor,” Gabrielle said. “Two weeks later, Stefan’s yacht disappeared.”
Damien stared.
“You think my father killed him?”
“No.”
“I think Stefan staged his death.”
Elena looked at the photograph again.
“Why wait twelve years?”
“He didn’t.”
Gabrielle opened another file.
Northstar Bridge LLC had been created eleven years earlier.
A year after Stefan vanished.
Payments from multiple Vasic subsidiaries had flowed into it quietly.
Small at first.
Consulting fees.
Insurance adjustments.
Port security contracts.
Then larger.
Millions.
“What was Viktor paying him for?” Elena asked.
Gabrielle looked toward Damien.
“To stay dead.”
Damien’s face changed.
“He knew.”
“Yes.”
“My father knew Stefan was alive.”
“Yes.”
“And paid him.”
“For years.”
“Why?”
Gabrielle’s voice lowered.
“Because Stefan had the Black Ledger.”
Damien turned toward Ronan.
“What is it?”
Ronan hesitated.
Elena interrupted.
“No more hesitation.”
Something in her voice surprised even her.
Ronan nodded.
“The Black Ledger was Viktor’s private record of everything the company did outside public books.”
“Illegal things?” Elena asked.
“Some.”
Damien looked sick.
“Bribes?”
“Yes.”
“Smuggling?”
Ronan did not answer.
That was enough.
Elena pressed both hands over her stomach.
Her daughter moved again.
A future kicking inside a room full of old crimes.
Gabrielle continued.
“Stefan stole the ledger before he disappeared. He has used it ever since to extort Viktor.”
“And now me?”
“Yes.”
Damien looked at the transfer.
“The twenty-eight million.”
“Latest payment.”
“Why from my credentials?”
Gabrielle’s expression hardened.
“Because someone inside Vasic Maritime wants it to look like you paid willingly.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know.”
Elena looked at Gabrielle.
“What did Viktor die from?”
Silence.
Gabrielle’s eyes shifted.
There.
Fear.
Elena stepped closer.
“You signed the autopsy amendment.”
Gabrielle whispered:
“Because Viktor called me two hours before he died.”
Damien froze.
“What did he say?”
“He said someone had poisoned him.”
The room seemed to shrink.
“Who?” Damien asked.
Gabrielle shook her head.
“He wouldn’t say.”
“Then what did he say?”
Her voice dropped.
“He said if he died, Elena was the only person in the family Stefan would underestimate.”
Elena stared.
“Why me?”
Gabrielle looked toward the wedding ring.
“Because Stefan thinks you’re just Damien’s pregnant wife.”
Then Elena’s laptop chimed.
An email had arrived.
No sender.
One attachment.
A photograph taken through a telephoto lens.
Elena leaving her obstetrician’s office two days earlier.
Beneath it:
MRS. VASIC SHOULD STOP READING OTHER PEOPLE’S ACCOUNTS.
A second line appeared.
May you like
THE BABY HAS SIX WEEKS LEFT.
DON’T MAKE ME COUNT THEM DOWN.
