Chapter 54 - The Ledger of the Unforgiven
With Marcus pinning Dante's shoulders, I used the curved pliers from the tool kit and sterile clamps to extract the jagged steel fragment. Dante groaned, his muscles locking like iron, before he passed out cold against the wooden bench.
I packed the wound with celox gauze, sutured the torn fascia with surgical nylon from the vessel's trauma kit, and bandaged him tightly. Only when his breathing stabilized into a deep, rhythmic pattern did I finally step out onto the freezing deck.
Marcus was leaning against the wheelhouse, smoking a cigarette downwind. Mateo was asleep inside the heated bunk, exhausted by terror.
"Castiglione’s dead, Marcus," I said, staring at the burning silhouette of the Chicago skyline receding into the blizzard. "Victoria went over the edge. So why do I still feel like there's a sniper's crosshairs on my neck?"
Marcus flicked his ash into the churning black wake. He pulled a heavy, waterproof Pelican case from under the bench and tossed it onto the iron deck between us.
"Because the old man wasn't the head of the snake," Marcus replied grimly. "He was just the bank."
He opened the latches. Inside was a ruggedized satellite terminal running a decryption algorithm, its screen glowing in harsh amber letters.
"Castiglione didn't push the button to destroy the penthouse out of spite," Marcus continued, tapping the screen. "It was an automated trigger. The moment his biometric heartbeat ceased, the 'Sovereign Ledger' was transmitted to five shell corporations across Zurich, Singapore, and Grand Cayman."
"What is the Sovereign Ledger?"
Marcus looked at me, his eyes dark with an ancient fatigue. "It’s the list of everyone who ever bought a share of the Castiglione bloodline. Politicians, federal judges, defense contractors... and the woman who funded your husband's entire company from the shadows."
I frowned, a cold knot tightening in the pit of my stomach. "Dante told me his seed capital came from private venture capital in Boston."
"It came from a trust established twenty-six years ago," Marcus said quietly. "By a woman who supposedly died in an asylum when Dante was four years old."
The air left my lungs. "His mother. Elena Castiglione."
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"She’s not dead, Laura. And she just liquidated every single asset tied to your son’s name."
***
