Chapter 4 - The Offshore Register of Thomas BennettDante stepped forward from the shadows, placing a heavy aluminum dispatch case onto the desk.
He popped the dual mechanical latches with a crisp snap.
Inside lay three encrypted military tablets, forty-two unredacted banking statements from the Bank of the Bahamas, and a velvet jewel box containing the matching platinum wedding band Clara had described ten minutes earlier:
T.B. to C.D. — Forever Sovereign.
Julian picked up the platinum band between his thumb and forefinger, holding it under the desk lamp.
“You spent three years using the power of the state anti-corruption task force to harass my legitimate shipping terminals, Thomas,” Julian said, his baritone dropping into a deadly, subterranean quiet that made the hair on my arms stand up. “You impounded six of my cargo freighters under the pretense of environmental audits, costing my family forty million dollars in demurrage fees.”
He dropped the platinum ring onto the mahogany desk.
Clink.
“And all the while, you were laundering the Savannah cartel’s revenue through the very maritime accounts you promised to regulate.”
Bennett lifted his swollen, blood-smeared face from the carpet, a feral, cornered sneer curling his lip.
“You think you can touch me, Cross? I’m a state-appointed division chief! The federal attorney general reviews my task force reports every Friday! If I don't check in by seven tomorrow morning, forty federal marshals will breach your front gates with tactical warrants!”
Julian picked up his personal satellite communicator from the desk blotter.
He tapped a single button.
A crisp, cultured voice answered through the speaker: “United States Attorney Marcus Vance speaking.”
The room went completely airless.
Bennett’s sneer froze on his face, turning to ash.
“Marcus,” Julian said softly. “I have your Chief Inspector in my study. Along with the unredacted Savannah property conveyances, the Bahamian wire confirmations, and his signed marriage license to Camilla Dupont.”
A heavy sigh came over the line.
“The emergency grand jury in New Orleans returned true bills across eighty-four counts forty minutes ago, Julian,” the federal prosecutor replied. “Extortion under color of official right, maritime conspiracy, tax evasion, and the fraudulent seizure of commercial assets. Federal marshals are already rolling toward the Garden District with arrest warrants.”
Julian closed the satellite line.
May you like
He looked down at Bennett, whose eyes were wide with pure, unadulterated horror.
“The marshals aren't coming to rescue you, Thomas,” Julian murmured. “They’re coming to collect the trash.”
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