Chapter 5 - THE PRICE OF SILENCE
The lobby of the downtown Columbus Hilton was draped in brass, polished mahogany, and low ambient jazz. It was 7:48 PM.
I didn't enter through the main revolving doors. I came in through the valet garage, staying in the shadow of the wide stone pillars near the lounge entrance.
Across the dimly lit room, seated in a high-backed leather booth beneath an oversized abstract painting, was Julian Vance. He looked fifty, trim, wearing a tailored charcoal suit with silver hair combed back with immaculate precision. On the low glass table in front of him sat a tumbler of scotch and an open leather briefcase.
Moments later, the glass doors swung open. Verity walked in.
She had added a burgundy silk scarf over her cream coat. She looked radiant, walking with the easy grace of a woman about to collect a life-altering payday. She slid into the booth opposite Julian, leaning in close.
I stood behind the partition, less than ten feet away, separated only by a decorative wood-and-glass lattice. I could hear every word.
“Did you get the federal bid numbers?” Julian asked without greeting her.
“I got everything,” Verity said smoothly, unzipping her leather bag. “Vendor contracts, route optimization schedules, and Stellan’s private balance sheets. His company won't survive the fourth quarter once you undercut their bid by four percent.”
Julian smiled, taking a sip of his scotch. “And Stellan? Is he making trouble?”
“He found the draft you wrote me,” she said dismissively. “He tried to play the outraged father because of the kid.”
Julian chuckled, a dry, rattling sound. “That little girl was always his weakness. Clara was the brains behind their early expansion, but once she was gone, Stellan turned soft. He spent half his time at playgrounds instead of boardrooms.”
“I took care of the kid,” Verity said, her tone cold enough to curdle milk. “She won't be talking to anyone. And I gave Stellan enough of a scare about Clara’s records that he wouldn't dare call the authorities. He thinks I have him by the throat.”
Julian reached into his briefcase and pulled out a thick cashier’s check. “Two hundred and twenty-five thousand. The remainder of your consulting fee. The moment the bid is submitted tomorrow morning, Vance Logistics absorbs Miller Freight. You did well, Verity.”
Verity reached for the check, her eyes gleaming. “There’s one more thing.”
She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out Clara’s small gold locket. She dangled it by its delicate chain over the table.
“What is that?” Julian frowned.
“Clara’s wedding locket,” Verity said, a cruel, mocking smile touching her lips. “The girl was sobbing when I took it off her nightstand. I figured if Stellan ever gets brave enough to hire a lawyer, I can use this to remind him how easily his family’s little relics can disappear.”
Julian shook his head, though there was no disapproval in his eyes—only the cold calculation of an investor. “You’re ruthless. I like that.”
“I’m practical,” she said.
“You’re an amateur,” I said, stepping around the wooden partition and walking directly up to their table.
Both of them snapped their heads toward me.
Julian’s hand moved instinctively toward his briefcase, but I slammed my palm down on the leather lid, snapping it shut with a loud crack that echoed across the quiet lounge. Several patrons turned to look.
Verity shot to her feet, her composure cracking. “Stellan? How did you—”
“Sit down,” I said, my voice low and flat.
“You have no right to approach me,” Julian sneered, regaining his posture, though his eyes darted nervously toward the exit. “We’re having a private conversation, Miller. If you don't leave, I’ll have security remove you.”
“Call security, Julian,” I said, pulling out a chair from an adjacent table and sitting down right at the head of their booth. “While you’re at it, call Detective Miller from the special victims unit. He’s standing in the lobby with two uniformed patrol officers right now.”
Verity’s face went past pale—it turned completely gray. “You called the police? You idiot! Did you forget what I told you about Clara?”
“I didn't forget anything, Verity,” I replied quietly.
May you like
I reached into my pocket, pulled out the silver micro-cassette player, and set it on the glass table between Julian’s scotch and the cashier’s check.
“In fact,” I said, “Clara wanted to say hello.”
