Chapter 7: Don't Trust Vincent
The text sat in his pocket like a coal.
Adrian had known Vincent Russo for eleven years.
Had watched the man take a bullet that was meant for him.
Had trusted him with every secret that mattered — including Sarah, including Lily, including the surveillance photos that documented three years of a life Adrian had watched but never entered.
He looked at the city moving past the car window and thought about who else could have sent that text.
Who knew he'd gone to the daycare.
Who knew he'd found the form.
Someone who was watching him right now.
"Change of plan," he said.
"Take me to the office.
I need the Marcus files before we move on him."
Vincent didn't hesitate.
"Understood."
That was the problem.
Vincent never hesitated.
It had always been a quality Adrian trusted.
Now he turned it over in his mind, looking at it from the other side.
At the office, Adrian sent Vincent to pull the financial records from the secure room and locked himself in his private office alone.
He called a number he used perhaps twice a year — a forensic accountant named Diane Cho who had worked for three federal agencies before going private and who owed him a favor she had never been asked to repay.
"I need a trace," he said when she answered.
"Six years of internal accounts.
I'm looking for payments out that don't match any vendor, any service, any known contact.
Anything that looks like a personal transfer."
"To whom?"
"I don't know yet.
That's what I need you to find."
"How fast?"
"Yesterday."
"Give me two hours," Diane said.
"Send me the access credentials."
He sent them.
Then he sat in the silence of his office and looked at his phone.
The unknown number hadn't texted again.
He typed back: *Who are you?*
Three minutes passed.
Then: *Someone who's been watching Volkov longer than you have.
Marcus didn't act alone.
He was given the daycare name and told exactly which line to fill in.
The instruction came from inside your organization.
Not Vincent.
Higher.*
Adrian read it twice.
*Higher than Vincent* meant one of three people.
His legal counsel, Robert Fane.
His operations director, a man called Shepherd who had run logistics for eight years.
Or his silent financial partner — a man named Gerald Holt who had helped Adrian build the organization from nothing fifteen years ago and who had, two years ago, quietly begun building something of his own on the side.
*What do you want?* Adrian typed.
*Nothing from you.
I want Volkov.
You're the path to him.
But not if your own house burns you first.*
He put the phone down.
Vincent knocked and entered with a folder.
"Marcus's accounts.
You'll want to see page three."
Adrian opened the folder.
Page three showed a series of transfers — small amounts, irregular intervals, spread across fourteen months.
The recipient account number meant nothing on its face.
But the transfer dates matched, almost exactly, the timeline of Lily's enrollment, the surveillance installation, and the Mulberry Street sh00ting.
"Someone was paying Marcus to feed information," Adrian said.
"Yes." Vincent sat down across from him.
"Boss.
I need to tell you something."
Adrian looked at him.
"Three weeks ago, Gerald Holt asked me about Sarah.
Casual, over dinner.
Said he'd heard a rumor that you had a personal situation in Brooklyn and wanted to make sure it wasn't a security risk." Vincent's jaw was tight.
"I told him it wasn't his concern.
He dropped it.
But the next day, Marcus called me and asked for the daycare address.
Said he needed it for insurance documentation."
"And you gave it to him."
Vincent's face didn't move.
"I gave it to him.
I didn't think — Marcus has handled sensitive logistics for years.
I had no reason—" He stopped.
"I should have asked you first.
I know that."
Adrian looked at the folder.
Then at Vincent.
The text had said *not Vincent.* It had said *higher.*
"Gerald Holt," Adrian said.
Vincent nodded slowly.
"I think so."
"He's been building his own network for two years.
I've let it go because it didn't cross my lines." Adrian closed the folder.
"He crossed them."
His phone buzzed again.
Diane Cho.
"I found it," she said.
"Fourteen months of payments from an account registered to a holding company called Meridian Consulting.
The beneficial owner of Meridian, after three layers of shell companies, is Gerald Holt."
Adrian set the phone on the desk so Vincent could hear.
"He wasn't selling information to Volkov," Diane continued.
"He was selling it to both sides.
Playing Volkov against you.
The sh00ting on Mulberry Street — Volkov pulled the trigger, but someone told Volkov where you'd be eating that night."
The restaurant on Mulberry Street.
Fifteen years of habit.
May you like
Only a handful of people knew his Tuesday evening routine.
Gerald Holt had eaten there with him a dozen times.
