Chapter 4 - EIGHTEEN PERCENT
Mara stared at the ledger.
Then at Viktor.
Then back at the ledger.
“No.”
Viktor said nothing.
“No,” Mara repeated. “I have forty-seven dollars.”
“That does not change what is written.”
“I owe fourteen thousand dollars in medical debt.”
“Mara—”
“My landlord gave me five days.”
She pushed the ledger toward him.
“People who own eighteen percent of shipping trusts do not get eviction notices.”
“People who do not know they own eighteen percent do.”
That answer only made her angrier.
“What exactly is this?”
Viktor sat across from her.
“The Rivergate Workers Trust.”
“Workers?”
“My grandfather created it with four immigrant families in 1968. Kovacs, Nagy, Horvath, and Szabo.”
The word Nagy landed differently now.
“The trust purchased warehouse properties and dock rights together. Over time, most of those assets became part of Kovacs Freight.”
“And my grandmother owned eighteen percent?”
“Not personally.”
Viktor pointed to the old notation.
“She was hereditary custodian of the Nagy share.”
“Which means?”
“She could vote the shares but could not sell them for personal profit. Their income was supposed to support worker pensions, injury funds, and family assistance.”
Mara looked at him.
“Supposed to?”
Viktor did not avoid the question.
“Parts of the trust became corrupted.”
“By your family.”
“Yes.”
The admission surprised her more than denial would have.
“And my grandmother walked away?”
“Apparently.”
Mara turned pages.
Payments.
Property transfers.
Names.
Then something else.
For fifteen years, every Nagy dividend had been listed as “unclaimed.”
The numbers made her dizzy.
“This is millions.”
“Trust money.”
“So I’m not rich.”
“No.”
“Good.”
Viktor raised an eyebrow.
“Good?”
“I don’t want to discover at nine-thirty on a Tuesday that my dead grandmother secretly made me a mafia heiress.”
“You are not a mafia heiress.”
“Excellent. That was becoming a terrible evening.”
His mouth twitched.
Then he pointed to another line.
“However, the custodian receives a legal administrative share.”
“How much?”
Viktor read the figure.
Mara sank into the chair.
It would have paid her mother’s medical bills ten times over.
The anger returned immediately.
“She died owing hospitals money while this sat here?”
“I didn’t know.”
“Someone knew.”
Viktor’s expression changed.
“Yes.”
They continued reading.
At the back of the ledger was a photocopy of a 2001 revocation.
It claimed Ilona Nagy had surrendered the Nagy voting rights permanently to the Kovacs chairmanship.
The signature looked real.
Almost.
Mara touched the page.
“My grandmother didn’t sign this.”
“How can you know?”
“She wrote capital I’s differently.”
Viktor leaned closer.
Mara pointed.
“Her I looked like a straight line with two short bars. She said cursive American I’s looked drunk.”
The signature on the revocation used a looping I.
“Someone forged it,” Viktor said.
“Or somebody else signed her name.”
A door opened behind them.
Adrian Pierce entered with two council members.
Mara recognized him from financial magazines.
Mid-fifties.
Silver hair.
Expensive suit.
Tired eyes.
He did not look surprised to see her.
That frightened her more than surprise would have.
“Mara Nagy,” Pierce said.
Viktor stood.
“You knew.”
Pierce removed his coat.
“I knew she existed.”
Mara rose slowly.
“How?”
“Your grandmother contacted my father after the 1998 shooting.”
Viktor stepped between them.
Pierce looked irritated.
“If I intended to harm her, Viktor, I had fourteen years while she was pouring wine three miles from my office.”
Mara folded her arms.
“Then explain why everyone except me seems to know my family history.”
Pierce looked at her.
“Because Ilona asked us to keep you outside it.”
“Us?”
“My father. Several trustees. Your mother.”
Mara’s stomach dropped.
“My mother knew?”
“Some of it.”
“No.”
“She knew enough to refuse the custodianship.”
Mara remembered her mother working two jobs.
Reusing coffee filters.
Arguing with insurance companies.
Crying quietly when she thought Mara was asleep.
“She could have used the money.”
“She believed accepting it meant bringing Kovacs business into your life.”
Viktor’s jaw tightened.
Pierce continued.
“Your mother chose poverty over danger.”
Mara hated hearing it framed that way.
As though suffering had been noble.
As though debt had been a shield.
“Why are you forcing the terminal sale?”
Pierce looked toward the windows.
“Because I have spent twenty-five years watching this trust finance both pension checks and organized crime.”
Viktor’s voice cooled.
“I have been separating those operations.”
“Too slowly.”
“Carefully.”
Pierce turned toward Mara.
“Halcyon can purchase the terminal, preserve the legitimate jobs, fund the pension liabilities, and end Kovacs control.”
“While giving you control?” Mara asked.
Pierce’s eyes sharpened.
“Halcyon is independent.”
“Then why does my grandmother’s vote matter?”
“Because an old charter gives the Nagy custodian power to stop the transfer.”
“And you didn’t tell me.”
“I was trying to locate the original authorization before involving you.”
Viktor laughed without humor.
“You mean before she could vote against you.”
Pierce reached inside his briefcase.
Mara stiffened.
He removed a photograph.
Not a weapon.
Her mother.
Twenty years younger.
Standing outside a hospital with Ilona.
Between them was Pierce.
Her mother looked exhausted.
Ilona looked furious.
Pierce handed Mara the picture.
On the back, Mara’s mother had written one sentence.
Keep Mara away from Viktor Kovacs.
Mara looked up slowly.
Viktor did not move.
Pierce’s voice became quieter.
“There are things he hasn’t told you.”
“What things?”
Pierce looked directly at Viktor.
“Ask him why your grandfather Peter Nagy never came home.”
Mara turned toward Viktor.
He said nothing.
That silence answered too much.
“What happened to my grandfather?”
Viktor’s face had gone gray.
Pierce spoke first.
“Peter Nagy was killed three weeks before Miklos Kovacs.”
Mara’s fingers closed around the photograph.
“By whom?”
May you like
Pierce’s eyes never left Viktor.
“By the Kovacs organization.”
