Chapter 9 - A New House Order
Two weeks passed.
The estate had transformed. The iron gates had been rebuilt with reinforced titanium plating, and a new security detail—men vetted through Vincent’s oldest, most trusted personal connections from his early days in Brooklyn—stood guard at every post.
The glass had been replaced, the marble floors scrubbed clean of blood, and the garden hedges neatly trimmed.
Arthur’s cottage had been renovated, but he no longer lived there. Vincent had insisted that Arthur and Lily take the west wing of the main mansion. Arthur was now officially Vincent’s Director of Logistics—a title that gave him oversight over all shipping manifests, security protocols, and personnel.
On a bright Tuesday morning, the sun poured over the manicured green lawns.
Vincent stood on the expansive stone patio, sipping black coffee. Beside him stood Arthur, his arm resting in a black sling, watching the lower driveway.
Down below, the hum of an electric motor buzzed through the morning air.
Bzzzzzzzz.
Lily was at the wheel of her pink convertible. Beside her sat Titan, wearing a brand-new light-blue bandana that Lily had personally selected at the local store. Titan looked utterly bored, but every time Lily turned the wheel, the dog leaned into the turn, his scarred head held high with absurd dignity.
“She’s happy,” Arthur said quietly. “For the first time in three years, she doesn't check the closet before going to sleep.”
“A child shouldn't have to check closets,” Vincent replied, his gaze warm as he watched the pink car navigate the gravel path around the fountain.
“The encrypted ledger from Vance’s locket,” Arthur said, his voice dropping into business mode. “I decrypted it yesterday. Rourke... it’s bigger than we thought. It’s not just offshore accounts and bank routing numbers. It contains the complete shipping manifests for three syndicates, including federal customs clearances dating back thirty years.”
Vincent didn't look surprised. “Julian Vance was a hoarder of leverage. That’s why Salvi was desperate enough to attack my house.”
“There’s something else,” Arthur said, pulling a small silver flash drive from his pocket and handing it to Vincent. “I haven't opened the personal archives yet. Julian had a biometric lock on his private journal entries. It requires a specific DNA sequence to unlock the sub-directories. Lily’s spit would open it, but I didn't want to drag her into that filth until you saw this.”
Vincent turned the cold metal drive over in his palm. “What filth?”
“Julian Vance didn't just operate out of Rhode Island,” Arthur said, looking Vincent dead in the eye. “Before he took his private syndicate off the grid twenty-five years ago, he operated out of Brooklyn. Under a different name.”
Vincent’s fingers stiffened around the drive. “What name?”
“Vincent... your father didn't die of a heart attack when you were nine,” Arthur said softly. “The medical reports in Vance’s index show your father was poisoned. And the man who authorized the payout was Julian Vance himself.”
Vincent felt the air leave his lungs. The warmth of the morning sun vanished, replaced by a sudden, dizzying void.
He stared at Arthur. “You’re telling me Lily’s grandfather murdered my father?”
“I don't know the full story,” Arthur said hurriedly, putting a hand on Vincent’s arm. “I only saw the transaction ledger from 1998. It was a contract. A hit. But Julian didn't order it for himself. He was acting as an intermediary for someone else inside the Rourke family.”
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Vincent’s mind spun into a dark spiral. His father’s empire had fallen to Vincent’s uncle, who had subsequently died in prison. Was Julian Vance an enemy—or had he been holding the keys to the greatest betrayal in Vincent’s entire life?
***
