Chapter 9 - I INVITED THE TRAITOR TO DINNER
I invited Victor Sloane to dinner on Saturday.
My uncle Silas came too.
Neither knew Detective Brooks had helped me prepare for the meeting.
New York law permitted certain recordings by a participating party, but I wasn't interested in relying on assumptions. My attorney and the detectives reviewed what could lawfully be preserved and used.
I had no intention of ruining the investigation by playing amateur detective.
Still, I needed to hear these men speak when they believed they controlled the conversation.
I arranged dinner in the private dining room of my Manhattan townhouse.
The same room where Silas taught me how to conduct negotiations when I was twenty-two.
Dark wood.
Expensive paintings.
A long table.
Too much silverware.
My father used to say powerful men should never eat in rooms that looked ordinary.
Elena hated that philosophy.
She once told me our dining table was so large it made every meal feel like a business merger.
I remembered laughing.
Now the room felt cold.
Victor arrived first.
Black suit.
No tie.
The familiar silver falcon ring on his right hand.
He looked at me cautiously.
“Gabriel.”
“Victor.”
“I'm surprised you called.”
“Business doesn't stop because we disagree.”
He smiled.
“Good.”
Silas arrived ten minutes later.
He carried a bottle of wine older than Noah.
He embraced me.
I let him.
That surprised him.
We sat.
The cook served dinner and left us alone.
For several minutes, the conversation remained ordinary.
Port contracts.
Labor negotiations.
An upcoming property sale.
Then I mentioned Harborline.
Silas stopped cutting his steak.
Victor continued eating.
“The accountants are asking questions,” I said.
Silas sighed.
“Accountants always ask questions.”
“I've decided to close the review.”
Victor looked up.
That got his attention.
“What?”
I shrugged.
“Too much trouble. The charity's losing money. Bad publicity.”
Silas smiled faintly.
“Practical.”
I hated how pleased he sounded.
Victor set down his fork.
“And Leah Mercer?”
I watched him.
“I thought she ran away.”
His expression changed.
Almost imperceptibly.
“That's what we understand.”
I took a sip of water.
“Then there's nothing else to discuss.”
Silas leaned back.
“Finally.”
I waited.
Then I said:
“The girl is still a complication.”
Victor's jaw tightened.
“Wren?”
I looked directly at him.
I had never told Victor the child's name.
Not once.
Perhaps he'd learned it through others.
Perhaps it meant nothing.
But he spoke it too easily.
“How do you know her name?” I asked.
Victor recovered.
“From the people watching your son.”
Silence.
Silas looked toward him.
A brief glance.
Not much.
Enough.
I kept my voice calm.
“I thought those men weren't yours.”
Victor stared.
“They weren't directly assigned by me.”
“Then by whom?”
He lifted his glass.
“Gabriel, we're here to discuss business.”
“And I'm asking about business.”
Silas interrupted.
“The boy should stay out of this.”
My body tightened.
“Which boy?”
“Noah.”
I looked at my uncle.
“Why?”
“Because children are vulnerable.”
I almost laughed.
“Funny you should say that.”
Silas's expression hardened.
“What's that supposed to mean?”
I leaned back.
“I've been wondering whether we've become careless.”
Victor watched me.
“With what?”
“Employees. Contractors. People who disappear without anyone questioning the explanation.”
Silas set down his knife.
“Gabriel.”
I looked at him.
He continued.
“Your father trusted me to keep this family together.”
“And?”
“And lately you're behaving like a man who forgot how the world works.”
I studied his face.
“What if the world works badly?”
Silas stared.
Then laughed softly.
“Your wife used to say things like that.”
The room went silent.
For a moment, I considered telling them everything.
That I had spoken to Carmen Ruiz.
That police were investigating Eastbridge.
That Avery had identified false tenant payments.
That Noah was frightened.
That an eight-year-old girl was waiting for her mother.
Instead I looked at Silas.
“Maybe she had a point.”
His smile disappeared.
Victor shifted in his chair.
“You're serious.”
“Yes.”
Silas shook his head.
“You're letting grief interfere with judgment.”
I looked toward Elena's photograph on the sideboard.
Then back at him.
“No.”
I took a breath.
“I'm finally using judgment.”
Neither answered.
Then Victor's phone vibrated.
He glanced down.
His expression changed.
Only for a moment.
He stood.
“Excuse me.”
He stepped into the hallway.
I continued eating.
Silas watched me.
“What are you doing, Gabriel?”
I looked at him.
“Having dinner.”
“Don't play games with me.”
“Why not?”
His expression hardened.
“Because I taught you every game you know.”
I felt something settle inside me.
That sentence had frightened me when I was younger.
Now it simply sounded tired.
“Yes,” I said.
“You did.”
Victor returned.
His face was pale.
Silas noticed.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
I watched them exchange a look.
Then I said:
“I've decided to send Noah away for a while.”
Victor stared.
“Where?”
“Europe.”
Silas nodded.
“Wise.”
“I don't want him involved.”
Victor relaxed slightly.
“Good.”
I continued.
“And Wren?”
Silas raised an eyebrow.
“What about her?”
“I won't be visiting her anymore.”
Victor looked relieved.
Too relieved.
I pushed my plate away.
“Let the charity handle whatever happens.”
Silas smiled.
“There you are.”
I looked at him.
“What?”
“The Gabriel I recognize.”
I stood.
The dinner was over.
When they left, I remained in the dining room.
The house felt enormous.
Empty.
I looked at Elena's photograph.
Then whispered:
“I'm sorry it took me so long.”
At midnight, Brooks called.
She had received the meeting notes and properly preserved recordings through the agreed process.
“Anything useful?” I asked.
“A few statements support what we already know. Nothing conclusive by itself.”
I nodded.
“Then what now?”
“We continue following the evidence.”
I looked toward the window.
Victor had received a message during dinner.
Something urgent.
Something that frightened him.
Ten minutes later, Avery called.
She had noticed a new payment through the medical transport accounts.
An invoice marked:
Final relocation — priority case.
The amount was enormous.
The authorization came from a company controlled by Silas.
My chest tightened.
“Final relocation?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Scheduled tomorrow morning.”
I looked at the clock.
Leah had been alive three days earlier.
May you like
Now someone was preparing to move her again.
And whatever they meant by final, I couldn't afford to let the word become permanent.
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