Chapter 11 - THE OLD MAN WHO REFUSED TO SIGN|
The warehouse on South Halsted Street had once been one of Frank Moretti's proudest investments.
He had purchased it forty years earlier when the neighborhood was struggling.
He had repaired the roof, hired local workers, and turned the building into a busy distribution center.
Now, beneath its flickering industrial lights, the same property had become his prison.
Frank sat at a metal table.
Peter Kline occupied a chair nearby.
The notary's face was bruised, and his shirt was dirty.
Across from them, Elias Voss placed a stack of documents on the table.
"All you need to do is sign."
Frank studied the pages.
"Where are my reading glasses?"
Voss sighed.
"Don't start."
"I'm eighty-two years old, Elias."
"If you expect me to read a legal agreement, you'll have to let me see it."
Kline looked toward Frank in surprise.
Voss signaled to Caleb Dunn.
Caleb searched Frank's coat and found the glasses in an inside pocket.
He placed them on the table.
Frank put them on slowly.
Then he began reading.
One page.
Another.
Another.
Voss's impatience grew.
"How long does it take?"
Frank turned a page.
"As long as necessary."
"You're wasting my time."
Frank looked up.
"You spent months planning to steal everything my family owns."
"Surely you can spare an old man five minutes."
Voss leaned across the table.
"Your son would be dead if I hadn't decided he was more useful alive."
Frank's hands went still.
"What did you say?"
Voss smiled.
"I could have finished him that night beneath Lower Wacker."
"But I realized afterward that an angry young king is easier to manipulate than a dead one."
Frank stared at him.
"Daniel Price died."
"Daniel was unfortunate."
Frank's expression hardened.
"His name was Daniel."
"He had a wife."
"He had a family."
"And he was worth more than all the money you've ever stolen."
Voss slammed his hand against the table.
"Sign!"
Frank lowered his eyes to the document again.
Then he noticed something.
One clause required him to acknowledge that the earlier property transfers had been voluntary and properly authorized.
Another purported to surrender his rights to challenge the transactions.
He understood exactly what Voss wanted.
Not a lawful sale.
The appearance of an elderly man confirming a lie.
Frank looked toward Kline.
"Mr. Kline, did you witness any of those earlier signatures?"
Kline swallowed.
"No, sir."
"Did you authorize anyone to use your seal?"
"No."
Voss struck the table again.
"Enough!"
Frank folded his hands.
"Then we all understand what this is."
Voss leaned closer.
"What?"
"A confession."
The warehouse fell silent.
Frank continued.
"Every paper you put in front of me proves that you know the earlier documents were fraudulent."
"If they were legitimate, you wouldn't need me to pretend otherwise."
For a moment, Voss looked almost impressed.
Then he laughed.
"Still sharp enough to be dangerous."
Frank met his eyes.
"And you're still foolish enough to believe that fear makes people respect you."
Caleb stepped toward the table.
Voss held up his hand.
"No."
"Let him enjoy his last performance."
He placed a pen beside the documents.
"Your son will come here tonight."
"When he arrives, you'll sign."
"Otherwise, Peter dies first."
Kline lowered his head.
Frank reached toward him.
"Look at me, son."
The younger man reluctantly raised his eyes.
"Whatever happens," Frank said, "you tell the truth about those documents."
Kline nodded.
Then Frank whispered, "And don't believe a word this man says about what your life is worth."
Meanwhile, across Chicago, Detective Serrano had assembled a team to respond to the kidnapping.
Luca wanted to enter the warehouse himself.
Rafael argued that doing so without coordination would put Frank and Kline in greater danger.
For once, Luca listened.
He provided investigators with everything they requested about the building.
Floor plans.
Known entrances.
Information about old storage rooms.
And the identity of Caleb Dunn.
I sat beside him as the detectives reviewed the case.
I knew the warehouse from employee records and deliveries, but I had never visited it.
Then I remembered a detail from Margaret Doyle.
"There's a basement office."
Luca looked at me.
"What?"
"Margaret said your father used to keep old staff payroll records there."
"She told me once that the office was separated from the main storage area."
Rafael examined the floor plan.
"She's right."
"There's a lower office behind the loading section."
Detective Serrano added the information to the officers' briefing.
Then a message arrived from Vanessa.
It contained a photograph of an access corridor leading to the warehouse's lower level.
Beneath it were seven words.
I can still help you save him.
May you like
A second message followed.
But Elias is going to start a fire.
