Chapter 2 - The Lock on the Outside
Vincent stared at the photograph until Evelyn said his name.
“Vincent.”
He looked up.
“What is your clinic doing on that case?”
“It isn't my clinic.”
“The label says—”
“I can read.”
His voice wasn't angry.
It was controlled.
That was worse.
Marco stepped closer.
“Boss?”
Vincent handed him the phone.
“Find everything that moved through Elena Moretti Community Clinic in the last twelve months.”
Marco's expression tightened.
“That could take—”
“Start now.”
Marco left.
Evelyn watched Vincent.
“Elena was your sister?”
“Yes.”
“The one who called you?”
He nodded.
The apartment seemed to shrink around them.
Samuel finished taping Evelyn's ribs and handed her water.
“Small sips.”
She obeyed.
Vincent remained by the window.
Rain moved down the glass behind him.
“What did your clinic receive from Crosswell?”
“Nothing.”
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
“Grant money?”
“No.”
“Medical supplies?”
“Not through Crosswell.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Then that shipping label shouldn't exist.”
“No.”
“What if someone used the clinic?”
Vincent looked at her.
“That would be difficult.”
“Not impossible.”
“No.”
Samuel glanced between them.
“I assume I'm not supposed to understand this conversation.”
“Correct,” Vincent said.
Samuel nodded.
“Good.”
Evelyn almost laughed again.
Then remembered Lucas.
Her phone sat charging through a portable battery Marco had brought.
No more messages.
No calls.
Nothing.
“I'm going to the pier.”
Vincent turned.
“No.”
“My brother is there.”
“Maybe.”
“You saw the photo.”
“I also saw someone tell you to come alone.”
“So?”
“So people who demand that injured women come alone to abandoned piers rarely plan reunions.”
“I'm not staying here.”
“You can barely stand.”
“I'll crawl.”
Vincent stared at her.
Evelyn stared back.
Samuel sighed.
“She's going.”
Vincent looked at him.
“You're not helping.”
“I'm a doctor. I identify symptoms. Stubbornness is terminal.”
Evelyn pushed herself up using the sofa.
Pain spread across her ribs.
She stayed upright.
Vincent walked over.
“No.”
“Stop saying that.”
“You have a concussion.”
“My brother has a gun to his head.”
“We don't know that.”
“We know enough.”
Vincent's jaw flexed.
He hated losing control.
Evelyn could see that immediately.
“Take me with you.”
“Absolutely not.”
“Then I call the police.”
That stopped him.
“You won't.”
“Try me.”
“The police may be compromised.”
“I know.”
“So why threaten me?”
“Because you clearly don't want them involved.”
For the first time, Vincent looked almost offended.
Then impressed.
“You're blackmailing me.”
“I prefer negotiating.”
“While bleeding.”
“I multitask.”
Samuel looked away to hide a smile.
Vincent exhaled through his nose.
“Fine.”
Evelyn blinked.
“Fine?”
“You stay in the vehicle unless I tell you otherwise.”
“No.”
“Then you're staying here.”
She considered it.
“Fine.”
“Good.”
“I'm lying.”
“I know.”
He helped her into a dark wool coat Marco found in the bedroom.
Evelyn tried to button it.
Her hands shook.
Vincent did not offer.
He simply waited.
She appreciated that.
Ten minutes later they rode a private elevator to the underground garage.
A black SUV waited.
No license plate visible from the front.
Marco drove.
Samuel sat beside him.
Vincent and Evelyn sat in the rear.
The city passed in wet reflections.
Evelyn stared out the window.
“Why would someone send medical shipments through your clinic?”
Vincent answered quietly.
“Because nobody audits charity.”
“I do.”
“That may be why you're bleeding.”
She looked at him.
“What does your clinic do?”
“Free urgent care. Addiction treatment. Women's services.”
“Controlled medication?”
“Yes.”
“Narcotics?”
“Limited.”
“Psychiatric drugs?”
“Yes.”
Evelyn felt something click.
Crosswell's missing money had moved through shell vendors associated with specialty pharmaceuticals.
Not ordinary medicine.
Sedatives.
Antipsychotics.
Synthetic opioids.
Expensive drugs purchased in quantities that didn't match any patient population.
“Vincent.”
He heard the change in her voice.
“What?”
“I think they're laundering inventory.”
“Explain.”
“The money I found wasn't just disappearing.”
She leaned forward despite the pain.
“Crosswell buys medication through shell vendors. The vendors inflate invoices. Some drugs exist on paper but never reach the clinics. Others are purchased legally and diverted before delivery.”
“To where?”
“I don't know.”
“Why use my clinic?”
“Because if somebody gets caught with a shipment linked to Elena Moretti Community Clinic, investigators look at you.”
Silence.
Vincent's eyes hardened.
“A frame.”
“Yes.”
Marco spoke from the front.
“Boss.”
“What?”
“I pulled internal delivery records.”
“And?”
“No Crosswell shipments.”
Evelyn frowned.
“Then someone created fake labels.”
Marco continued.
“Except there is something else.”
Vincent waited.
“Three warehouse receipts list Elena Clinic as receiving party.”
“When?”
“Eight months ago. Five months. Two weeks.”
“I've never seen them.”
“I know.”
“Signatures?”
“One is mine.”
Marco said it like a man confessing a murder.
Vincent looked at him.
“You sign?”
“No.”
“Then someone forged you.”
“Yes.”
Evelyn turned toward Marco.
“Can you show me?”
He handed back his tablet at a stoplight.
She examined the signature.
Marco D'Angelo.
Strong capital M.
Short looping D.
She zoomed in.
“It's not a forgery.”
Marco looked back.
“It isn't mine.”
“I believe you.”
“Then what?”
“It's a digital signature render.”
Vincent leaned closer.
Evelyn pointed.
“See the pixel pattern? Someone inserted an image of your signature onto the document. They didn't sign it.”
“How would they get his signature?”
“Any contract. Check. Delivery confirmation.”
Vincent and Marco exchanged a look.
Evelyn noticed.
“What?”
Vincent said, “My organization uses digital documents.”
“Who has access?”
“Too many people.”
“So somebody inside your organization could be helping Cross.”
Vincent said nothing.
That silence answered her.
The SUV turned onto Delaware Avenue.
Industrial buildings replaced restaurants.
The rain grew heavier.
Marco killed the headlights before entering an abandoned service road.
“Pier is ahead.”
Vincent checked his watch.
12:41 a.m.
He looked at Evelyn.
“You stay.”
She didn't answer.
“Evelyn.”
“I heard you.”
“Say it.”
“I'll stay.”
He stared.
“Better lie than I expected.”
She almost smiled.
The SUV stopped behind an empty warehouse.
Vincent opened the door.
“Marco.”
“Yes.”
“Two teams. West side and river access.”
“Already moving.”
Vincent turned to Evelyn.
“If anything happens, Samuel drives you out.”
“Lucas—”
“I'll bring him back.”
“You can't promise that.”
“No.”
“Then don't.”
He held her gaze.
“I'll try.”
That was better.
Vincent disappeared into the rain.
Samuel moved into the driver's seat.
Evelyn waited.
Thirty seconds.
One minute.
Two.
She stared at the warehouse.
No visible movement.
Then her phone buzzed.
UNKNOWN NUMBER.
YOU BROUGHT HIM.
Her blood ran cold.
Another message.
YOU WERE TOLD TO COME ALONE.
A photograph arrived.
Taken seconds earlier.
Vincent walking beside the warehouse.
Evelyn sat forward.
“They can see him.”
Samuel looked at her.
“What?”
“They're watching.”
She called Vincent.
No answer.
Again.
Nothing.
Then a light came on inside the warehouse.
One hanging bulb.
A silhouette appeared near the open loading doorway.
Lucas.
Evelyn gasped.
He was standing.
Not tied.
He stumbled forward.
“Lucas.”
She opened the SUV door.
Samuel grabbed her arm.
“No.”
“He's there.”
“Vincent told you—”
“That's my brother.”
She pulled away.
Pain nearly folded her in half.
She kept moving.
Rain hit her face.
“Lucas!”
He looked toward her.
Even from fifty yards away, she saw something wrong.
His walk was slow.
Mechanical.
“Evie!”
His voice cracked.
“Don't come closer!”
She stopped.
Lucas lifted both hands.
Something was strapped around his chest.
Not a bomb.
A medical harness.
Clear tubes connected to a bag beneath his jacket.
“Stay back!”
Evelyn's heart hammered.
“What did they do to you?”
“I don't know.”
Vincent appeared from the left.
“Evelyn!”
Lucas saw him.
Panic exploded across his face.
“No!”
He backed away.
“Don't let him touch me!”
Vincent stopped.
“Lucas.”
“You stay away.”
Evelyn looked between them.
“Lucas, he came to help.”
“No.”
Lucas shook his head violently.
“You don't understand.”
“Then tell me.”
Lucas looked at Vincent.
“They wanted him here.”
Vincent's expression changed.
“Who?”
Lucas swallowed.
“Cross isn't running this.”
A sound echoed inside the warehouse.
Metal striking concrete.
Vincent raised one hand.
His men stopped moving.
Lucas whispered something.
Evelyn couldn't hear.
“What?”
He looked directly at her.
“Adrian is scared too.”
Then every light in the warehouse came on.
Dozens.
Bright white.
Vincent looked up.
Security monitors hung along the far wall.
Each displayed live camera feeds.
Evelyn's apartment.
Vincent's clinic.
Crosswell headquarters.
The street outside City Hall.
And one room Evelyn recognized immediately.
Adrian Cross's private office.
Adrian stood inside it.
His hands were raised.
Someone else sat behind his desk.
Only the back of the chair was visible.
A voice came through speakers overhead.
“Good evening, Vincent.”
Vincent went perfectly still.
Evelyn looked at him.
He knew that voice.
The chair on the monitor began to turn.
Vincent whispered one name.
May you like
“Michael.”
And the man Evelyn had never heard of finally faced the camera.
