Chapter 9 - THE OLD MURDER CAME BACK INTO THE ROOM
Agent Vega reopened the Vincent Cross question with federal and Chicago investigators.
No dramatic announcement.
No promise.
An old homicide remained an old homicide until evidence changed it.
My father’s file contained one clue.
A bank statement.
Seven days before Vincent died, Victor transferred $400,000 from a Cross-controlled cash business to a company named Lakeside Fleet Repair.
Lakeside dissolved three months later.
One of its employees was Anthony Russo.
The same Russo who tried to force Miles to kill me.
“That could be coincidence,” I said.
Vega nodded.
“Correct.”
“What would make it not coincidence?”
“Evidence.”
Damian almost smiled.
“She says that a lot.”
“I like her.”
“No, you don’t.”
Apparently everyone had the same opinion.
The investigation found that Russo’s father had worked security for Victor in 2014.
Still not proof.
Then Peter, my father’s old storage records, contained a typed memo.
Michael Hale to Vincent Cross.
Victor’s Lakeside disbursements do not reconcile with equipment work.
Recommend independent review before confrontation.
Date:
Three days before Vincent’s murder.
The old story shifted.
Vincent had been preparing to confront Victor.
Then he died.
Victor inherited greater influence over Damian and Cross governance.
That was motive.
Not proof.
Damian looked worse each day.
Not physically.
Internally.
I had watched him manage bankruptcies, strikes, federal subpoenas, and a warehouse fire.
Nothing shook him like learning his father may have been betrayed from inside.
“You should sleep,” I told him Sunday night.
We were in Cross Tower again because I refused to hide indefinitely.
“You sound familiar.”
“Four days ago I was funnier.”
“You were kidnapped.”
“Thank you. I had forgotten.”
He looked at me.
The humor disappeared.
“I am sorry.”
“For what?”
“For telling you the garage was one elevator ride away.”
“That was me.”
“For not insisting.”
“You’re not my father.”
His face changed.
“Rachel.”
“No.”
I leaned back.
“You do not get to convert my decision to walk alone into your guilt because it makes you feel more in control.”
Silence.
“That was very specific.”
“I had time to think.”
He looked toward the city.
Then said, “Victor used you because he knew I would react.”
“Yes.”
“He was right.”
“You didn’t.”
“I wanted to.”
“That is not the same thing.”
He looked at me.
“You always make things sound simple.”
“No.”
“I make sentences clear. Life remains terrible.”
That earned the smallest smile.
Then Luke entered.
He looked grim.
“Anton Ferraro is downstairs.”
Damian stood.
“Why?”
“He says he has something about Marco.”
Anton came without an entourage.
One attorney.
One bodyguard who remained outside.
He was fifty-five, broad, silver at the temples, and looked nothing like the theatrical gangster newspapers would have preferred.
He sat.
“Victor called me.”
Damian’s jaw tightened.
“When?”
“Tonight.”
“What did he want?”
“Safe exit.”
“In exchange?”
“Information.”
“About?”
“You.”
Damian’s expression did not change.
Anton continued.
“He offered proof you ordered Marco killed.”
“I did not.”
“I know.”
That surprised everyone.
“How?”
“Because Marco called me the night before he vanished.”
Anton placed an old microcassette recorder on the table.
“My brother liked insurance.”
Another man who recorded instructions.
Apparently organized crime bred archivists.
The tape had been digitized.
Marco’s voice:
Victor says Vincent was weak and Damian is worse.
Another voice.
Victor.
Distinct.
You do not need to like the boy. You need to understand that after Vincent is gone, Damian will need someone to blame.
Marco:
You’re insane.
Victor:
No. I’m preparing.
The tape stopped.
Damian stared.
Anton said, “Marco thought Victor was talking about removing Vincent from the company.”
“Not killing him.”
“No.”
“Why didn’t you give this to police?”
Anton looked at Damian.
“Because your family blamed mine for Vincent’s death.”
“And you let me believe it?”
“I was trying to keep my own people alive.”
There it was.
Every family protecting itself through silence.
“What happened to Marco?” Damian asked.
Anton’s face changed.
“I don’t know.”
“You expect me to believe that?”
“He disappeared after meeting Victor.”
Damian stood.
Anton did not.
“I spent twelve years believing your brother killed my father.”
“I spent twelve years believing your uncle killed mine.”
The sentence stopped the room.
“Your uncle?”
“Victor was the last person known to meet Marco.”
Silence.
The rival families had spent more than a decade blaming each other for deaths that pointed back toward one man.
Then Agent Vega received an alert.
Victor’s phone had come online for eleven seconds.
Location ping:
Cross family cemetery outside Lemont.
Vincent Cross was buried there.
So was Damian’s grandfather.
May you like
Victor was not fleeing Chicago.
He had gone to the place where the family buried its secrets.
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