Chapter 5 - The Shadow in the Office
Three days later, the storm had cleared completely, leaving the city buried under a pristine, blinding blanket of white snow.
Inside his penthouse office on the thirty-second floor of the Beckett Tower, Thomas stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, looking out over the glittering skyline. His coffee cup sat untouched on the mahogany desk behind him.
The intercom buzzed sharply.
“Mr. Beckett?” his executive assistant, Karen, said through the speaker. “Arthur Garrison is on line two. He says it’s urgent regarding the Marcus Vance investigation.”
Thomas pressed the speaker button. “Put him through, Karen.”
“Thomas,” Garrison’s voice came on, sounding unusually tense. “You’re not going to believe what we just found in Marcus Vance’s secondary corporate filing cabinet during the court-ordered asset freeze.”
“Spit it out, Arthur. I don't have time for riddles.”
“It’s not a riddle,” Garrison said grimly. “We pulled the financial ledgers for Derek’s landscaping business—the one that went belly-up six months ago. We found a paper trail connecting Derek’s corporate debts not just to local credit unions, but to a high-interest private lending syndicate operating out of New Jersey.”
Thomas frowned, his brow furrowing. “A loan sharking operation? What does that have to do with Sarah’s house?”
“Everything,” Garrison replied, the sound of paper shuffling coming through the line. “Derek didn't just try to steal Sarah’s apartment to be petty or vindictive. He used the house as collateral for a hundred-thousand-dollar emergency bridge loan three weeks ago. He forged Sarah’s signature on a fraudulent second mortgage to keep his creditors from breaking his legs.”
Thomas felt a cold knot form in his stomach. “A second mortgage? But the title was clear when I bought it for her.”
“It was clear,” Garrison confirmed. “Until Marcus Vance executed that fake power of attorney and used it to register a fraudulent encumbrance at the county clerk’s office. The mortgage company holds a notarized claim against the property title as of last Tuesday.”
“Can they foreclose?” Thomas asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous, icy register.
“Not legally, because the underlying power of attorney has now been voided by the judge as a criminal forgery,” Garrison explained. “However… the people holding that note aren’t local banks, Thomas. They’re professional enforcers tied to the Camden syndicate. They don't care about court orders or injunctions. They care about their money.”
Before Thomas could answer, his cell phone buzzed violently on the desk.
He glanced down at the screen. It was an unrecognized number with a local area code.
“Hold on, Arthur,” Thomas said, picking up his cell phone and swiping to answer. “Put the files on my desk in ten minutes.”
He placed the phone to his ear. “This is Thomas Beckett.”
A harsh, gravelly voice answered from the other end of the line, completely devoid of warmth.
“Mr. Beckett? We understand you’ve been doing some heavy housekeeping over at North Pine Street. But your son-in-law forgot to mention one very important detail before you threw him out.”
May you like
Thomas’s grip tightened on the phone. “Who is this?”
“That doesn't matter,” the voice sneered. “What matters is that Derek Vance signed a promissory note backed by that property, and our employers are out one hundred thousand dollars in hard cash. If that house isn't signed over to our holding corporation by sundown tomorrow… we’re going to pay a little visit to your niece and her newborn baby.”
