Chapter 35
Chapter 35: The Whispering Gallery
Grand Central Terminal at midnight was a vast, echoing cathedral of stone and silence. The massive constellations painted on the vaulted ceiling were dark, the only light coming from the amber glow of the terminal clock.
Vincent Moretti stood in the center of the Whispering Gallery, his arms crossed over his heavy coat, four of his top soldiers flanking him in the shadows. The architectural quirk of the gallery meant that a whisper spoken into one corner could be heard perfectly on the opposite side, fifty feet away.
The heavy brass doors creaked open. Enzo and Harper walked into the gallery alone. Enzo wore a long black coat, his hands buried deep in his pockets; Harper was in a sharp white trench coat, her silhouette clean and striking against the dark marble.
"You've made a lot of noise for a couple of midwest tourists," Vincent said, his voice carrying perfectly across the stone archway through the acoustic anomaly.
"The noise is just beginning, Vincent," Harper’s voice whispered back, carrying with the same, perfect clarity into Moretti's ear. "The Vanguard assets were just the first chapter. Tomorrow morning, the federal prosecutor receives the routing codes for your offshore concrete accounts in Panama."
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Vincent’s jaw tightened. "You think you’re smart, girl? You think your father didn't try to play this game with me? He died in a cage, Harper. And that’s exactly where you’re going if you don't hand over that notebook."
"My father died because he was a coward who hid behind children," Harper whispered back, her voice entirely steady. "I am standing right in front of you."
