Chapter 16 - The Sister's Price
"Brooke, listen to me very carefully," I said, my voice dropping into a register so dangerously calm that even Agent Miller stopped typing on his tablet. "Sterling Hayes doesn't have partners. He has assets, and he has liabilities. The moment you hand him that key, you become a liability who knows where the bodies are buried."
Brooke laughed—a high, brittle, manic sound that bounced off the marble walls of Derek’s penthouse.
"Oh, save the big-sister lecture, Leah! You’ve spent your entire life looking down your nose at me! You thought you were so righteous working sixty hours a week, saving every penny, paying for my dresses like I was some charity case! You wanted me to be weak! You wanted me to depend on you so you could feel like the queen of the family!"
"I paid your bills because I loved you," I said coldly. "And you liked Dad's message disowning me because you thought Derek was going to buy you a lifestyle you never earned."
"And Derek was right!" Brooke shouted, her face twisting in rage. "The Caldwells were royalty until you brought your fed boyfriend into the rehearsal dinner! You ruined my life! You ruined Daddy! But I’m taking my cut. Hayes told me that once I give him the key, Derek’s federal charges will be dropped on jurisdictional technicalities. We’re moving to Monaco."
"Brooke—"
"Don't call me again, Leah. If you try to stop me at the private terminal, Hayes’ security will handle you permanently."
The screen went black. The call disconnected.
Miller immediately signaled his tactical commander. "Trace that IP. Lock down the Trust Building on South Tryon. Get a warrant for Derek Caldwell’s penthouse immediately."
"Wait," Julian said, raising a hand. His eyes were fixed on the tablet. "If we hit the penthouse with SWAT, Brooke will panic. If she destroys that physical key or drops it down the trash chute, that encrypted drive is an eighty-thousand-dollar paperweight. We will never be able to tie Sterling Hayes directly to the offshore money."
"She’s my sister," I said, standing up from the bumper, letting the thermal blanket fall to the gravel. "I know how her mind works. She’s terrified. She’s drinking champagne because her hands are shaking. She won't stay in that penthouse until midnight—she’s too paranoid. She’ll head to the private aviation terminal at Charlotte Douglas right now to wait inside the VIP lounge."
"How can you be sure?" Miller asked.
"Because Brooke never waits for anything," I replied. "When we were kids, she opened every Christmas present three days early and taped the boxes back together because she couldn't stand the suspense of waiting. She’s already packing her Louis Vuitton bags."
Julian looked at me, a dangerous, admiring gleam in his eye. "What's the play, Leah?"
"Vanguard Crest thinks I’m a broke, small-town restaurateur whose building just burned down," I said, pulling the twelve-million-dollar cashier's check from my pocket. It was slightly damp, but the ink was crisp, the signature clear. "They think money buys everyone. So let’s play by Wall Street rules."
I turned to Julian. "Can your division set up a mirror routing trap on the private terminal’s VIP banking terminal within forty-five minutes?"
"We can intercept every outbound wire within two miles of the runway," Julian confirmed.
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"Then call the tower," I said. "Tell them Sterling Hayes' private Gulfstream has priority clearance to land. I'm going to deliver the drive to my sister myself."
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