Chapter 6 - The Ledger Closed
The downtown precinct was quiet at 1:00 a.m.
When I walked into the private holding room, Lucian Vale was sitting at a metal table under a harsh, dangling bulb. His suit jacket was back on, though his tie was loosened and the cut over his eyebrow was still visible.
He stood up as I entered.
“Your apartment door is broken,” he noted quietly.
“Your men broke my window, too,” I countered, sitting down uninvited at the table. “I expect full property restitution from your syndicate’s insurance.”
A genuine laugh escaped Lucian’s lips—deep, warm, and entirely unexpected.
“Consider it done, Ms. Marsh.”
I placed the heavy leather ledger between us on the metal table. I opened it to Page 42, sliding it across to him.
“Dr. Bell confessed to everything before they put him in the transport van,” I said softly. “The federal prosecutor has the audit files. The hospital board has been dissolved. Mercy County is finally getting an independent forensic audit.”
Lucian looked down at the ledger, tracing the faded ink of my mother’s handwriting with his thumb.
“She was a brave woman,” he said softly. “She deserved better than what this city gave her.”
“She deserved a friend like you,” I admitted, surprising myself.
Lucian looked up, his dark eyes locking onto mine with an intensity that made the air in the room feel thin. “And what about you, Dela? Now that the debt is paid, what do you want?”
I leaned back in the metal chair, crossing my arms.
“When I paid your nineteen-dollar bill at Rose’s Diner, I thought I was just buying a stranger breakfast,” I said, a small smile forming on my lips. “I didn't realize it came with private security, car tires, and a criminal empire.”
“It’s a comprehensive package,” Lucian deadpanned.
“I think,” I said slowly, “we need to renegotiate terms.”
Lucian raised an eyebrow. “Oh? What terms?”
“No more secret ledgers. No more leaving my brother and me out of the loop while you wage war against corrupt hospital administrators.” I slid a small business card across the table—my personal cell number, written on a scrap of diner receipt paper. “Next time you need a nurse, or an auditor, you call me directly.”
May you like
Lucian stared at the scrap of paper for a long moment. Then, very slowly, he picked it up and slid it into his breast pocket.
“Accepted,” he said.
