Chapter 5 - THE VOICE ON THE WIRE
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Inside the mansion’s secure garage, three computer monitors illuminated Luca’s grim face with cold blue light.
The tech specialist inserted the retrieved memory card into the reader, working through corrupted sectors of code.
I stood beside the doorway, holding a warm thermos of black coffee for Luca.
Frank had refused to stay asleep; he sat in a motorized wheelchair beside his son, clutching Anthony’s letters to his chest.
The screen flickered violently, then snapped into a grainy video recording stamped with the time: 7:54 PM.
Through the rain-streaked windshield of Anthony’s car, headlights suddenly blinded the camera lens.
A dark grey delivery van had cut off Anthony right at the outer curve of the estate’s driveway.
Three men in black tactical gear jumped out, wielding iron bars and suppressed handguns.
We watched in breathless agony as an elderly man with snow-white hair stepped out of the driver's side.
Anthony looked so much like Frank that my heart seized in my chest.
He held a battered leather briefcase close against his chest like a shield.
One of the attackers struck Anthony across the temple with the butt of a weapon, knocking him to the asphalt.
Anthony kicked wildly, fighting with everything he had, screaming a name into the night.
The audio on the recording crackled, then amplified clearly through the garage speakers.
“Tell Arthur Sterling he can kill me, but Frank will know the truth!” Anthony’s recorded voice screamed out.
Frank burst into fresh tears, grabbing Luca’s forearm with trembling, desperate hands.
“He was defending our family name, Luca!” Frank cried out.
“He had no weapon, only the truth in that briefcase!”
On the monitor, the thugs threw Anthony into the back of the van and drove away, leaving his car behind.
Suddenly, a muffled vibration echoed from the steel worktable across the room.
It was Vanessa’s burner phone, retrieved from her private study by the security team.
An unknown caller ID flashed across the screen with persistent urgency.
Luca signaled everyone in the room to maintain absolute silence.
He reached down, swiped the screen, and placed the call on speakerphone without saying a single word.
A gravelly, arrogant voice resonated through the speaker.
“Vanessa, the old bastard put up a fight, but we have him locked down.”
Frank gasped, but I quickly placed a comforting hand on his shoulder to keep him quiet.
“Did you burn those letters from the office like I told you?” the voice continued impatiently.
“Arthur,” Luca spoke into the microphone, his voice deadlier than a loaded gun.
The other end of the line went completely silent for four agonizing seconds.
A nervous, dry chuckle broke through the receiver.
“Luca,” Arthur Sterling replied, trying to sound composed.
“I didn’t expect my son-in-law to be monitoring my daughter’s private correspondence.”
“You have exactly thirty minutes to deliver my uncle to my front gate unharmed,” Luca stated coldly.
“Or else what, Luca?” Arthur sneered, abandoning his polite veneer completely.
“Your wife handed me the power of attorney over Frank’s estate three hours ago.”
“I own the Taylor Street ground lease now, and your uncle is an unregistered trespasser on industrial property.”
“If you want Anthony breathing, you will bring Frank to the Calumet River transfer station alone.”
“Bring the signed deed relinquishing the Moretti claim, or Anthony goes into the river in a concrete block.”
The call clicked dead, leaving a hollow dial tone ringing through the cold garage.
Frank looked up at his son with sheer terror in his eyes.
“Luca, give him the land,” Frank begged desperately.
“I don’t care about the restaurant, I don’t care about the millions, I just want my brother back!”
Luca looked at his father, his eyes burning with absolute, lethal resolve.
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“Arthur Sterling won’t get a single square inch of our land, Dad,” Luca vowed.
“Tonight, he gets the exact justice he paid for twenty years ago.”
