Part 2: Three privileged college boys shattered my nineteen-year-old daughter’s jaw in six places, then laughed because they believed their families could buy her silence. K007

The neon sign of the old jazz club flickered against the wet pavement of the downtown district. It was a place where information was bought and sold in hushed tones over expensive bourbon. I hadn't stepped foot inside for nearly five years, but the bouncer at the door still recognized me. He stepped aside without a word.

I navigated through the dimly lit room, the sound of a slow saxophone masking the conversations of the patrons. In a circular booth at the very back sat Elias, a shadow broker who traded in corporate secrets and underworld logistics.

I slid into the booth across from him.

Elias looked up from his drink, his eyes widening in a mixture of shock and sheer terror.

"They said you were gone," Elias whispered, glancing nervously around the club. "They said the Ghost was dead."

"I’m on vacation," I said flatly. "But I need information, Elias. And I need it tonight."

"I don't want any trouble, Dominic. The landscape has changed. The new players don't respect the old treaties."

"I’m asking about Marcus Thorne," I said, ignoring his panic. "Specifically, the digital ledger he uses to manage Obsidian Holdings."

Elias swallowed hard, his hands trembling slightly as he gripped his glass.

"Thorne is a psychopath. If he finds out I talked to you, he’ll have me skinned alive."

"If you don't talk to me," I replied, leaning forward so the shadows obscured half my face, "I won't have to lay a finger on you. I will simply let the federal agents who dismantled Jonathan Hale’s empire know about your offshore accounts. You’ll spend the rest of your life in a cell next to Sebastian Voss."

It was a bluff, but Elias didn't know that. The reputation of the Ghost did the heavy lifting.

"Fine," Elias capitulated, pulling a small notebook from his breast pocket. "Thorne is hosting a private gala tomorrow night at the grand opening of the new Obsidian Tower. It’s a front to legitimize his shell companies. His chief financial officer, a man named Sterling, carries a biometrically locked hard drive on him at all times. That drive syncs with the master ledger."

"Sterling," I repeated, committing the name to memory.