Chapter 13 - The Weakest Link|
The partial fingerprint Marcus discovered underneath my SUV belonged to a man named Silas Vance—the estranged, deadbeat, drug-addicted nephew of Arthur Vance, Richard Sterling's sleazy, high-priced defense attorney. The connection was so incredibly obvious, so blatantly brazen, that it almost felt like an insult to our collective intelligence. Detective Reynolds arrested Silas at a rundown, filthy motel on the industrial outskirts of the city less than twenty-four hours later, dragging him out in handcuffs while he was still half-asleep.
"He's sitting in the interrogation room right now," Reynolds told me over the phone, his voice echoing slightly against the tiled walls of the busy police precinct. "He's terrified, shaking like a leaf, but he's flatly refusing to say a single word without his lawyer present. And guess who just confidently walked through the front doors of the building to formally represent him?"
"Arthur Vance," I guessed, feeling a sudden surge of bitter, white-hot anger boiling in my chest.
"Bingo," Reynolds confirmed with a heavy sigh. "Arthur is going to try to paint this entire attempted murder as a random act of petty vandalism by a deeply troubled, drug-addicted relative. He'll claim Silas was just trying to steal car parts for quick drug money and didn't have any idea who the car actually belonged to. We all know it's a blatant lie, but without a direct, indisputable paper trail linking Silas to Richard Sterling's bank accounts, the District Attorney won't even touch Sterling. It's too circumstantial."
I hung up the phone, feeling utterly defeated, and turned to Marcus, who was busy typing away at lightning speed on his encrypted laptop, running complex financial tracking algorithms.
"We need the money trail, Marcus," I said desperately, pacing the floor. "Silas isn't going to flip. Arthur Vance will make sure of it. He’ll promise him a light sentence and pay him off."
"I know," Marcus replied, his eyes glued to the scrolling data, his fingers flying across the keyboard. "I'm digging deep into Silas's recent financial activity. The kid was completely broke last week, getting evicted from his apartment, but two days ago, he suddenly paid off a ten-thousand-dollar illegal gambling debt in pure, unmarked cash. That money had to come from somewhere. Sterling is smart, but he can't move that much untraceable cash without using one of his offshore shell companies. I just have to find the right digital thread and pull it until the whole sweater unravels."
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"And while you do that?" I asked, looking anxiously toward the hallway where Maya was reading a book quietly in her room, oblivious to the legal warfare happening around her.
"We leave the house," Marcus said firmly, closing his laptop with a sharp snap. "Sterling knows the brake tampering failed. He knows Silas is currently in police custody. He's going to panic, and panicked men do unpredictable things. Pack a bag for you and Maya right now. We are moving to a secure safehouse tonight."
