Chapter 43 LOUD WHISPERS
Silas scrolled through his computer, completely focused, the glow of the screen reflecting in his narrowed eyes.
As Ethan's private investigator, he had been tasked with digging into Vincent's past business dealings. Earlier that day, someone had anonymously sent him a copy of the supposed contract between Vincent and David Carter Lena's late father.
Silas ran the document through signature analysis tools and compared it to official records. What he uncovered was damning: David had never signed that contract. The signature on the document was not legally binding; it had been lifted from an old autograph David once gave at a charity event.
Vincent had forged the contract. It was all a fabricated agreement used to take over David's paintings under false pretenses. Silas sat back, stunned for a moment, then immediately hit "print." Ethan needed to see this now.
But that was only the beginning.
As Silas dug deeper, peeling through sealed records and firewalled databases, a much darker picture of Vincent began to emerge. There were multiple cases tied to him: drugs, murder, kidnapping each one buried, dismissed, or mysteriously closed. Somehow, Vincent had escaped them all. But one particular case stopped Silas cold. It was a drug deal gone wrong, ending in a brutal shootout that claimed several innocent lives, including two undercover agents. The case had gone cold years ago, swept under the rug.
Silas wasn't just any investigator. He worked underground for politicians, billionaires, and people with reputations too polished to get their hands dirty. With high-level connections across the FBI and covert agencies, he had access to intel most people didn't know existed. And now, with new digital evidence and a long-buried witness statement he managed to unearth, he had enough to reopen the case and put Vincent back in the line of fire.
As he pieced the puzzle together, Silas sat back in his chair, momentarily stunned. Vincent wasn't just corrupt, he was ruthless, calculating, and far more dangerous than anyone had realized.
Silas leaned forward, fingers flying across the keyboard as he compiled the key files into a single, heavily encrypted folder. The forged contract. The buried murder case. The unsealed drug investigation. Every piece of evidence he had carefully uncovered, verified, and connected all pointing directly at Vincent.
He attached the file to a secure message and hovered over the keyboard for a second. Then he typed:
"Use this to sort out your issue with Vincent quickly. He's more dangerous than you think.
A ruthless man with powerful people backing him.
Move smart, and move fast."
He hit send.
Then leaned back in his chair, his eyes still locked on the screen. He knew what he had just triggered. There was no walking this back. If Vincent caught even a whiff of what had been uncovered... people would start disappearing.
Ethan sat in his office, typing with intense focus, the quiet clicks of the keyboard echoing through the room. His phone buzzed beside him an email alert. When he saw the sender, his fingers froze mid-sentence. That account only meant one thing: urgency.
Without hesitation, he minimized his work and opened the message. His eyes scanned the contents quickly Silas's words were direct, and the attached evidence damning. Ethan's expression didn't shift, but something colder crept into his gaze.
"This will be resolved tonight," he muttered, voice low and sharp.
He switched screens and sent a brief message to an encrypted, anonymous account. Within minutes, a reply came through: Vincent's current location.
Ethan leaned back and picked up his phone. He dialed a secure number to the head of security.
"Operation Black Drive," he said coolly. "We roll at 8."
He ended the call without waiting for a response. His fingers resumed typing.
As Lena pulled up to the location, the sun was already dipping below the skyline, casting long shadows across the quiet street. She checked the time later than she expected. A flicker of unease crept in, but she quickly pushed it aside.
It's just a quick meeting, she told herself. A smooth transaction, in and out.
She parked the car and took a steady breath, gripping her handbag a little tighter. Everything had been arranged. She had gone over the plan a dozen times. Still, something about the stillness around the building felt... off.
But she wasn't going to back out now.
Vincent walked briskly to the entrance. The moment he saw her car parked out front, excitement bubbled within him. She came. Just like he knew she would. A smile crept onto his face, calm, calculated, but underneath, it was brimming with anticipation.
He adjusted his jacket and continued toward the car, his pace steady, his eyes locked on her silhouette through the window.
As Vincent peeked into the car and saw her sitting there, a strange wave of satisfaction washed over him an almost childlike joy mixed with something darker. Without a word, he walked around and slid into the back seat, directly behind her.
"You came really fast," he said smoothly, his voice calm, too calm.
Lena glanced at him through the rearview mirror, confused. Why the back seat? A small knot of unease began to form in her stomach.
"Why are you sitting back there?" she asked, trying to keep her voice steady.
But before the words had even fully left her lips, she felt something pressed firmly against her nose and mouth a white handkerchief, cold and damp.
Her body jolted instinctively, her hands clawing at his wrist, trying to resist but it was too late. Her vision blurred. The edges of her consciousness faded into black.
Within seconds, her body slumped against the steering wheel.
Vincent leaned back, breathing heavily, watching her go still. Then, calmly, he tucked the handkerchief away and whispered to no one in particular,
"Now we can talk... properly." He said with a wide smile.
Earlier in the day, all Vincent could think about was having Lena all to himself. The demons in his head had whispered lies so convincingly, he believed them believed that Lena was a gift from God, made solely for him. She belonged to him. That twisted conviction had fueled the dark plan he'd carefully put in place: lure her in, then take her.
He'd done this before more than once. He knew how to cajole, how to charm just enough without raising alarms. He hadn't pushed too hard when he suggested dinner, knowing that too much pressure might make her suspicious. No, he had something better. The paintings. That was his bait.
He let out a sharp whistle, and two men stepped out from the building, heading straight for the car.
They opened the door and began to lift Lena's limp body out.
"Easy!" Vincent snapped, walking beside them. "Don't injure her," he warned sharply.
One of them handled her too roughly, and Vincent lashed out, kicking him hard in the leg.
"Gently, you fool!" he growled, his eyes burning.
The men adjusted their grip, lifting her with more care as they carried her inside.
The room they brought her into was cozy, well-furnished, softly lit, and carefully arranged. It was clear he had prepared it specifically for her.
As they laid her down on the bed, Vincent turned to another man.
"Get rid of the car."
"Yes, boss," the man replied before disappearing through the side door.
Vincent looked at Lena, unconscious and still. "Perfect," he murmured.