Chapter 7 - The Grand Jury and the Greed
The federal courthouse in Boston was a gray granite monolith that smelled of old tobacco, floor wax, and the dry, absolute weight of state authority.
On the third Monday of April, the grand jury met to review the indictment against the Apex Financial Solutions corporation. Victor Vance sat at the defense table, his silver-tipped cane resting against his knee, his charcoal suit looking pristine under the white lights of the courtroom.
Elara stood in the witness box, her nurse’s uniform replaced by a simple dark blue dress Mrs. Gable had provided. She was holding the manila envelope from the Congress Street bank, her hands steady as she looked down at the men who had spent two years calling her apartment at 3 a.m.
"The state calls Elara Harper," the prosecutor said.
"Miss Harper," Vance’s lawyer stood up, a man with a gold watch chain that clicked against his vest with every movement. "You are a former domestic worker whose mother owed a considerable sum to the city clinic. Is it not true that your current residence and financial liquidity are entirely dependent on the Vale Trust?"
"My residence is above Sullivan’s Diner, counselor," Elara said, her voice echoing through the high, white room with a clarity that made the reporters in the front row look up from their pads. "And as far as financial liquidity is concerned, I have an affidavit here from the Maritime Bank of Geneva showing that Apex Financial Solutions attempted to transfer four hundred thousand dollars of port authority stock to a private account in Montreal twenty minutes after my mother passed away."
A sharp murmur ran through the gallery. Vance didn't look at his lawyer; his eyes were fixed on the back of the room where Cassius Vale stood by the double doors, his long black coat unbuttoned, his walking stick resting between his boots.
"The document is a forgery," Vance’s lawyer said, his face turning a mottled, angry purple.
"The document was verified by Mr. Abernathy on Congress Street three hours ago," the judge said, his gavel coming down with a crack that sounded like a pistol shot through the quiet room. "The objection is overruled. The defendant will enter his plea to the charges of corporate fraud and conspiracy to commit extortion."
Vance looked at the bench, then at Cassius, and finally at Elara. His hand tightened on the silver tip of his cane until the metal groaned, but he didn't speak. He knew the geography of the city as well as Cassius did—he knew that once the grand jury had the routing numbers, the Senator wouldn't answer his phone, and the Montreal trucks wouldn't clear the border before the midnight bell.
"Guilty," Vance whispered, his voice so low the court reporter had to lean forward to catch the syllables.
As the marshals led him through the side door, his boots making a sharp, frantic clicking against the linoleum, Cassius walked down the center aisle of the courtroom. He stopped at the wooden gate of the witness box, his dark blue eyes looking up at her with an intensity that had nothing to do with the ledger.
"You did well, Elara," he said.
May you like
"I did what my mother would have done," she said, her hand going to the silver bracelet that sat on her wrist—the one with the tiny flower charm she had found in his bag. "And now I want to go back to South Boston. The diner opens at six, and Mr. Sullivan needs someone to prep the eggs."
Cassius didn't move. "The van is out front, Elara. But Julian isn't driving. I am."
