Chapter 3 - The Audit of ShadowsBy ten o'clock that night, the private study of my resort suite smelled of cold black coffee and burnt midnight oil.
A confidential dossier sat open on the mahogany desk. Vince stood by the window, moonlight spilling across his tactical vest as he briefed me on what his quiet background check had uncovered.
“She wasn't lying about the nursing school, sir,” Vince began, flipping open a tablet. “Elena Vance—no legal ties to you, though her family shares the last name purely by coincidence. She attended Boston Metropolitan University’s nursing program for three years. Top of her class. Exceptional clinical reviews.”
“What happened?” I asked, leaning back in my leather chair, rubbing my aching right shoulder.
“Her mother, Clara Vance, suffered a catastrophic hemorrhagic stroke fifteen months ago. Elena dropped out overnight to become her primary caretaker. They live in a modest, working-class neighborhood on the south side of the city. No savings to speak of; the medical bills practically devoured everything.”
My eyes scanned the financial printouts attached to the file. Accumulated debt, past-due utility notices, collection agency warnings—it was a portrait of quiet, desperate drowning.
“What about the bruises?” I asked, my voice dropping an octave.
Vince’s posture stiffened. He clicked to a secondary document. “That’s where things get complicated. The local police precinct in her district has logged three domestic disturbance calls to her home address over the last eight months.”
My jaw clenched. “Domestic?”
“Her older brother, Marcus Vance. Chronic gambling addict, heavy drinker, unemployed. According to neighbor statements and emergency dispatch logs, when he doesn't get cash from Clara’s disability check to feed his habits, he takes it out on Elena.”
The ugly purple marks circling her wrist flashed vividly in my mind. The defensive bruising on her shoulder. The way she had flinched slightly when Vince raised his voice in the pavilion.
“She’s protecting her mother from a parasite,” I murmured, the anger pooling in my chest feeling uncomfortably hot. It reminded me too much of the protective instincts I had failed to execute properly when Thomas died.
“The resort stay was real, by the way,” Vince added. “Her coworker at the local diner where she works part-time won it in a hospitality union drive and gave it to her, hoping she’d get forty-eight hours of sleep before she collapsed.”
I stood up from the desk, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling glass window that looked out over the dark, sprawling expanse of Hollow Pine Resort. Down below, the lights of the main lodge flickered against the pine trees.
“Where is she right now?” I asked.
“Cabin fourteen, down by the lower creek. She and her coworker are checking out at dawn.”
“Cancel her checkout.”
Vince blinked, surprised. “Sir?”
“Move them to the executive suite in the main lodge. Upgrade their stay. Send room service, a doctor to check her ribs, and ensure no staff members bother them.”
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Vince stared at me for a long moment, reading the absolute authority in my posture. He knew better than to argue when I made up my mind. “Consider it done. And Marcus—her brother?”
“Let’s pay the piece of shit a visit,” I said coldly. “Quietly.”
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