Chapter 2 - Shadows in the Registry
“Caleb,” Harper whispered, her throat tightening as the reality of what she had witnessed rushed back. “Caleb Vance.”
The moment the last name left her lips, the atmosphere in the room shifted from tense to lethal. One of the guards near the door muttered a harsh curse under his breath, and Dominic’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle ticked in his cheek.
“Vance,” Dominic repeated, tasting the name like poison on his tongue. He leaned back in his chair, though his eyes never left Harper’s face. “Caleb Vance. Junior partner at Kingsley & Vance Financial Consulting. Drives a black Audi, wears custom Italian suits, and fancies himself a high-roller in downtown circles.”
Harper stared at him in shock. “How do you know that?”
“In this city, I know what shoes people wear before they even step outside,” Dominic replied smoothly. He gestured to the open briefcase filled with cash and the bloodstained cloth on the table. “And Caleb Vance has been stepping where he shouldn't for months. That money on the table? That’s a fraction of what your dear fiancé has been skimming from our shipping logistics accounts to fund his lavish lifestyle and his secret downtown condo.”
The room spun. Harper felt as though the floor beneath her was dissolving. Not only had Caleb been sleeping with her best friend, but he was neck-deep in a dangerous criminal enterprise that crossed paths with the most feared syndicate in Illinois.
“I didn't know,” Harper breathed, her hands clutching the edges of the chair. “I swear I didn't know anything about this. I just thought he was successful. I thought we were building a life together.”
“People rarely show you their true ledgers until the accounts are frozen, Harper,” Dominic said, using her first name with a casual familiarity that sent a strange shiver down her spine. He stood up, walking over to the bar cart to pour himself a fresh glass. “Caleb thinks he’s clever. He thinks playing both sides of the fence—skimming from my logistics while currying favor with rival corporate syndicates—makes him untouchable. But tonight, he made a critical error.”
“What error?” Harper asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
Dominic turned around, leaning back against the mahogany counter. “He thought he could sever his ties with us by planting a tracking device in one of our shipments, intending to hand it over to federal prosecutors in exchange for immunity. But our security caught the leak an hour ago.”
The pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity. The blood on the table. The briefcase of hush money. The locked door. Caleb hadn't just betrayed her heart; he had put a target on his own back—and by association, anyone close to him.
“If you’re going to kill me to tie up loose ends,” Harper said, her chin lifting with a sudden, desperate flash of defiance, “just do it now. Don't make it a spectacle.”
Dominic let out a short, humorless bark of laughter. He walked slowly back across the room, stopping right beside her chair. He reached out, his calloused fingers gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from her damp cheek. The touch was startlingly tender for a man of his reputation.
“I don't kill civilians, Harper,” Dominic murmured, his voice dropping an octave, vibrating with a quiet intensity. “Especially not women who stumble into my office with a broken heart and a front-row seat to their own liberation. In fact… I think you and I are going to help each other.”
Before Harper could ask what he meant, a violent pounding echoed against the heavy oak door.
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Bang! Bang! Bang!
“Boss!” a frantic voice yelled from the hallway. “We’ve got a situation downstairs! Caleb Vance just came back into the club with two federal agents. They’re demanding access to the VIP corridor!”
