Chapter 3 - The Brother Hidden in Brooklyn and the Ledger Beneath the Ballroom
Catherine did not let Victor see her panic. She handed the photograph to Nadia and asked the only question that mattered.
“When was it taken?”
“Four hours ago. The hospital confirmed Mikhail left before his shift ended.”
Mikhail Volkov was a pediatric surgeon who hated the family business. Catherine had helped him build a life in Brooklyn under their mother’s surname. He treated children, forgot to answer messages, and had no patience for the elaborate security precautions she insisted on. He was the one person who could still tell her she was being foolish and make her listen.
Victor folded his arms. “So the queen has a family after all.”
“Do not say another word about him.”
“Or what?”
Catherine held his gaze. “Or you will discover the difference between an investigation and a personal grievance.”
She regretted the sentence as soon as it left her mouth. She had promised herself that power would never make her careless with threats. Anger was not evidence. She turned away before Victor could answer.
In the library, Nadia spread photographs across the desk. Mikhail had been seen leaving the hospital with a woman in a tan coat. The woman carried a folder stamped with the name Harbor Relief, a nonprofit that delivered medicine to clinics in underserved neighborhoods.
“Harbor Relief is clean,” Nadia said. “Or it was until last year.”
Catherine knew the organization. Her mother had volunteered there. Its reputation was the perfect cover for diverted pharmaceuticals.
“Find the woman,” Catherine said. “And get the hospital security footage through proper channels. I want Mikhail found, not a dozen innocent people frightened.”
Tommy appeared in the doorway. “There’s something else.”
Victor had followed him, unwilling to be excluded from his own library. Tommy ignored the glare.
“Last month, Mr. Costello ordered the old ballroom storeroom sealed. Said the contractors had found water damage.”
Catherine looked up. “Was there water damage?”
“Not that I saw.”
Victor spoke sharply. “That room contains private documents.”
“Then you will have no objection to preserving them,” Catherine replied.
Kensington called the estate attorney and arranged for an independent inventory with a court-approved evidence custodian. Catherine refused to break the lock or let armed men rummage through records. She had spent too many years watching powerful people destroy their own cases through impatience.
The custodian arrived shortly before dawn. Behind the storeroom door were crates marked as decorative lighting equipment. Inside, wrapped in foam, lay temperature-controlled transport cases. Several had pharmaceutical serial numbers filed away and replaced with false labels.
Nadia photographed each case before touching it. Tommy watched, pale.
“I thought it was art,” he whispered.
“Someone wanted you to,” Catherine said.
The final crate contained a ledger. Catherine recognized the handwriting on its first page. It belonged to Dr. Elias Ward, the compliance officer who had died in a warehouse accident eighteen months earlier. Ward had been the witness Nadia was supposed to meet in Newark before his death.
Across the top of the last page was a single entry: V.C. AUTHORIZATION — VERIFIED BY C.H.
Victor seized on the initials. “Chloe Harrington,” he said. “That proves she was involved. I had no idea.”
Chloe, who had been brought into the library by her own request, stared at him. “You told me those transfers were legal.”
Catherine felt the old pattern emerge. Victor would sacrifice anyone to preserve the image of himself as the man in control.
“Both of you will have counsel,” she said. “Neither of you will be questioned by my people. The records go to the investigators.”
Her phone rang. Unknown number.
She answered without speaking.
Mikhail’s voice came through, breathless. “Katya, listen carefully. I’m alive. But the woman who brought me here says she knows why Ward died.”
“Where are you?”
“Don’t send your guards. She’s terrified of them.”
A pause. Then a second voice, a woman’s, low and urgent.
“Ask Catherine what happened to the children from the Harbor Relief trial.”
May you like
The line went dead.
Catherine looked at the ledger again. She had been chasing money. Someone else had been counting patients.
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