Chapter 10 - major reveal
The rain had stopped by ten-thirty in the morning, replaced by a low, gray sky hanging over the Hudson River.
A vintage 1970 Plymouth Superbird, painted midnight black with an engine that rumbled like a caged beast, tore north along the Taconic State Parkway at ninety miles an hour. Jared had pulled the car from a secure underground storage facility near the Battery immediately after they surfaced from the Federal Reserve tunnels.
In the back seat, Brutus sat upright, his silver head wedged between the front buckets, his eyes fixed on the winding highway ahead.
Willa sat in the passenger seat, the sealed legal document on her lap. She had finally broken the red wax seal twenty minutes ago.
Her hands were still shaking as she read the notarized parchment for the third time.
"It wasn't a blind trust," Willa said, her voice cutting through the roar of the V8 engine.
Jared didn't take his eyes off the road. "What is it?"
"It’s an irrevocable deed of transfer," Willa said, her voice rising in disbelief. "Julian didn't leave forty percent of the voting shares in trust for an heir to claim later. He transferred them legally on October 14, 1995. The day I was born."
Jared’s jaw tightened. "Explain."
"For the last ten years, Richard has been running Kensington Financial under an emergency conservatorship," Willa said, pointing to the legal clause stamped by the state Supreme Court. "Under syndicate law and corporate law, that conservatorship is completely void if the true majority shareholder appears in person with the original deed."
She looked at Jared, the full weight of the situation crashing down upon her.
"I don't just own forty percent of the company, Jared. With Julian's shares and your thirty percent... we control the entire empire. Richard has nothing. He never had anything."
"That's why he had to kill you," Jared said, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. "If you were dead, the estate would default to the next living blood relative: Richard. Helena knew it. That's why she tried to contact me before Richard poisoned her."
"And Miles?" Willa asked. "Why would Miles throw away fifteen years with you for Richard?"
"Miles didn't do it for Richard," Jared said, his voice dropping into a register of pure, icy venom. "Look at the routing numbers on that wire transfer in the ledger."
Willa flipped to the back page of the black leather book. She traced the account numbers with her finger. "Drummond Logistics Corp. Account Ref: Omega. It routes to a holding company in the Cayman Islands called... Castiglione Holdings."
The name hung in the air like a death sentence.
Willa looked at him. "Who is Castiglione?"
"Dominic Castiglione," Jared said, the name tasting like ash in his mouth. "The head of the Chicago Outfit. The largest syndicate outside of New York. For thirty years, my family kept the Chicago families from expanding into Manhattan."
He hit the turn signal, veering the muscle car off the parkway onto a private, winding road lined with towering oak trees and wrought-iron fencing.
"Miles was never Richard's man," Jared said. "Richard is an arrogant fool who thought he was playing the board. Castiglione bought Miles years ago. They let Richard eliminate Helena, they let Richard target you, and once Richard seized the company today, Chicago was going to wipe out Richard and take New York without firing a shot."
Willa stared at him, the scope of the conspiracy making her blood run cold. "This was never a family dispute. It was an invasion."
"Yes," Jared said, his face settling into a mask of pure war. "And it ends today."
The car crested a forested hill, revealing the Kensington Estate.
It was an immense, nineteenth-century stone manor set on three hundred acres overlooking the Hudson River. High stone walls, towering black iron gates, and armed guards stationed every twenty yards.
In the circular gravel driveway in front of the main house, a dozen black town cars and luxury SUVs were parked in a neat, intimidating semi-circle.
The heads of the five New York syndicates had arrived.
Jared didn't slow down.
He floored the accelerator.
The Superbird leaped forward, its engine screaming as it barrelled down the private drive toward the iron gates.
"Hold on," Jared commanded.
The guard at the gatehouse leaped out, reaching for his rifle, but the Superbird slammed through the heavy wrought-iron gates with a deafening crash of tearing metal and shattered timber. The car skidded across the manicured lawn, tore through the rose gardens, and drifted to a violent, gravel-spraying halt directly in front of the grand entrance of the manor.
Jared kicked his door open.
He didn't draw a gun. He straightened his black suit jacket, pulled his cuffs down, and opened the passenger door for Willa.
Brutus leaped out first, an eighty-five-pound silver engine of pure fury, planting himself at Willa's side.
Willa stepped onto the gravel, clutching the leather ledger and the legal deed against her chest. Her heart was beating fast, but her head was high.
Jared looked at her, his dark eyes blazing with an unholy fire.
May you like
"Stay beside me, Willa," Jared said, his voice carrying across the estate grounds like a promise. "Today, you take back your name."
Together, the mafia boss and the cleaner walked up the stone steps into the viper’s den.
