Chapter 3 - The Three Hundred Dollars That Wasn't About Money
Adrian spent the next forty-eight hours dismantling the hidden operation inside Loro.
The restaurant had been laundering money.
Not in the obvious way.
No suitcases of cash.
No suspicious deposits.
The system was subtler.
Bills were inflated.
Certain guests were charged for premium items they never ordered.
The excess money went into accounts controlled by shell companies.
Then the restaurant purchased legitimate-looking consulting services from those same companies.
Money vanished into ordinary paperwork.
Franklin had been one of many.
The real architect sat higher.
Much higher.
Jonathan Pierce.
Adrian called him into the office.
Jonathan walked in smiling.
“What's wrong?”
Adrian placed the receipt on the desk.
“Tell me.”
Jonathan looked at it.
“Restaurant accounting?”
“No.”
“Then what?”
“This symbol.”
Jonathan's face barely changed.
But Adrian saw it.
Fear.
A fraction of a second.
Enough.
“Where did it come from?”
Jonathan shrugged.
“I don't know.”
Adrian leaned back.
“I've known you for twelve years.”
“Yes.”
“I know when you lie.”
Jonathan smiled.
“You're paranoid.”
“Maybe.”
Adrian pushed another document forward.
A shell company.
Payments.
Then another.
Jonathan's name appeared.
Jonathan stopped smiling.
“I can explain.”
“I hope so.”
“It wasn't my operation.”
“Whose?”
Jonathan hesitated.
“Pierce.”
Adrian stood.
“Answer.”
“A group.”
“What group?”
“The Harbor Circle.”
Adrian stared.
He had heard the name.
Everyone in Seattle's criminal world had.
A network of businessmen, politicians, smugglers, and private financiers.
They didn't advertise.
They didn't threaten.
They bought silence.
They had tried to approach Adrian three years earlier.
He refused.
Since then, there had been occasional attacks.
But none had ever touched his businesses directly.
Until now.
Adrian looked at Jonathan.
“Why use my restaurant?”
“They needed cover.”
“You gave it to them.”
Jonathan looked ashamed.
“I had debts.”
“What kind?”
“My brother.”
Adrian's eyes narrowed.
“Explain.”
“Medical bills.”
“You could have asked me.”
Jonathan said nothing.
Adrian laughed once.
“You know that's what makes betrayal so disappointing.”
Jonathan looked down.
“They threatened him.”
“Who?”
“I don't know.”
“You know.”
Jonathan closed his eyes.
“Senator Whitmore.”
Adrian froze.
The same senator Mara had refused to overcharge.
The same man who thanked her.
Adrian remembered him watching the hallway.
“Why would a senator need a criminal network?”
Jonathan shook his head.
“It isn't about the senator.”
“Then what?”
“It's about the people behind him.”
Adrian stared.
Before Jonathan could continue, the lights went out.
The room became dark.
A gunshot shattered the window.
Jonathan fell.
Adrian ducked.
Security rushed in.
Jonathan was bleeding.
“Who fired?” Adrian shouted.
“Roof!”
Adrian looked down.
Jonathan was conscious.
He grabbed Adrian's sleeve.
“They know.”
“Who?”
“They know about the girl.”
Adrian's eyes hardened.
“Mara?”
Jonathan nodded.
“They want her dead.”
Meanwhile, Mara was at home.
She was holding her grandmother's hand when someone tried the back door.
Security intercepted them.
Two men fled.
One was caught.
When questioned, he said only one thing.
“Blue Harbor.”
The name meant nothing to Mara.
But Adrian knew.
Blue Harbor was a private club near the waterfront.
A place where politicians and businessmen met.
A place controlled by the Harbor Circle.
A place where Adrian's father used to go.
That night, Adrian visited Mara again.
She was sitting beside the kitchen table.
“You look tired.”
“So do you.”
“I've had a bad week.”
“I've had worse.”
She smiled faintly.
“Are you always like this?”
“Like what?”
“Calm.”
“No.”
“What happens when you're not?”
“I become unpleasant.”
She laughed.
It was the first time he had heard her laugh.
The sound caught him off guard.
She looked at him.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“You were staring.”
“Yes.”
Her cheeks warmed.
Adrian looked away.
“This isn't a safe situation.”
“I know.”
“You should leave Seattle.”
“I can't.”
“Why?”
“My grandmother.”
“I can arrange transport.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.”
Mara shook her head.
“This city is my home.”
Adrian understood.
He didn't push.
Instead he sat.
“What was written on the receipt?”
She told him.
A crown.
Adrian thought.
“What table was it?”
“Nineteen.”
“When?”
“Last Tuesday.”
He searched the records.
Table nineteen had hosted a private meeting.
Senator Whitmore.
Jonathan Pierce.
A man named Elias Grant.
And another person.
Unknown.
The server assigned to the table had quit the next morning.
Adrian looked at Mara.
“You were supposed to work that table.”
“I did.”
“What did you hear?”
“Nothing.”
“Are you sure?”
She hesitated.
“I heard one thing.”
“What?”
“Someone said, 'Once Voss signs, the waterfront belongs to us.'”
Adrian went still.
“What else?”
“Nothing.”
He looked toward the window.
If the Harbor Circle wanted his signature, the restaurant wasn't their ultimate target.
It was him.
Mara had simply stepped into their line of fire.
May you like
And Adrian suddenly understood why they wanted her gone.
She had heard something they could not risk her repeating.
