Chapter 25
CHAPTER 25: THE INSIDE TRACK
"We need someone on the inside," I stated, leaning over the map of the diplomatic compound Marcus had laid out. "Someone who knows the Obsidian Group's financial architecture. Someone who hates them as much as we do."
My father looked up, his eyes widening. "No. Valeria, absolutely not. You can't be serious."
"Evelyn Vance," I said, turning to Marcus. "Your sister. She’s currently sitting in a federal holding cell at the Metropolitan Correctional Center. She partnered with Julian Rivas, which means she was dealing with the Obsidian Group’s secondary network. She knows how they move their money."
"Evelyn tried to kidnap your son, Valeria," Marcus reminded me, his jaw tight. "She’s a viper. The moment she gets out, she’ll sell us out to Arthur to save her own skin."
"Not if I give her a reason to want Arthur dead," I replied.
Two hours later, using a forged attorney pass provided by Marcus, I walked into the glass-walled visitor room at the MCC. Evelyn Vance sat across from me, her orange jumpsuit looking ridiculous against her sharp, high-society posture. Her silver-blonde hair was messy, but her eyes still burned with a vicious intelligence.
"Come to gloat, Valeria?" Evelyn sneered, leaning back in her chair. "Enjoy it while it lasts. The Salazar name isn't going to save you from what’s coming."
"Arthur Pendelton is executing the Obsidian Protocol, Evelyn," I said, my voice barely a whisper against the glass. "He’s taking Grupo Salazar. And guess what he did to Vance Global’s American shares this morning?"
Evelyn froze, her eyes narrowing. "What did he do?"
"He liquidated them," I said, sliding a printout of the morning's European market tickers across the slot. "He declared Vance Global a corrupted asset due to your arrest. He didn't just fire you, Evelyn. He wiped out your family's entire net worth to cover the Obsidian Group's tax shelter losses in Luxembourg. You’re not a partner to him. You’re the sacrificial lamb."
May you like
Evelyn stared at the numbers, her face draining of color until she looked like a corpse. Her hands began to shake with a raw, terrifying fury. "That British bastard... he promised me the Atlantic corridors."
"Help me break his network," I said, leaning closer. "And I’ll give you back your company."
