Chapter 6 - The Final LedgerTwo days later, the sun broke over Newport, turning the Atlantic into a brilliant sheet of hammered silver.
The Ostrander estate was no longer a ghost house. Fleet of state police cruisers, unmarked federal vehicles, and forensic vans jammed Bellevue Avenue from end to end. News vans crowded the iron gates, broadcasting live feeds of investigators hauling heavy, mud-stained canvas bags out of the mansion’s eastern wing—bags containing tens of millions in recovered bearer bonds and the digital hard drives that documented every corrupt politician, judge, and syndicate boss in New England.
Marcus Vance had been arrested at his waterfront office in Providence at sunrise, copper cuffs snapping shut around his wrists before he even had time to reach for the pistol in his desk drawer.
Inside the grand library of the Ostrander estate, the tall windows were thrown open to let the salt air wash away the years of decay.
Nathan Vance stood by the fireplace, wearing an open-collared shirt and his charcoal suit jacket, looking out over the manicured lawns that sloped down toward the rocky cliffs.
Warrick Hollis stepped into the room, holding a thick manila folder stamped with federal seals.
“The US Attorney’s office just called,” Warrick said, a faint smile touching his weathered lips. “The property title has been officially transferred out of probate and into your corporate holdings. Free and clear. The state is dropping all inquiries into your logistics operations in exchange for the Ostrander financial ledgers.”
Nathan didn't turn around immediately. He reached down, his fingers scratching gently behind the massive ears of Nero, who sat faithfully at his heel.
“And my uncle?” Nathan asked.
“Marcus is singing an opera for the federal grand jury as we speak,” Warrick replied, walking over to place the folder on the mahogany desk. “Turns out sealing two people in a concrete box leaves a very specific paper trail when you hire local contractors to pour the mix.”
Nathan turned away from the window. He looked around the vast, sunlit library, breathing in the clean scent of ocean air and polished wood.
“They laughed when I bought this place, Warrick,” Nathan said quietly.
“Let them laugh, son,” Warrick said, resting his hand on Nathan’s shoulder just as he had done twenty-six years ago at a funeral in South Providence. “The people who laugh at the dead usually forget that the dead eventually find a way to speak.”
Nathan looked down at Nero.
May you like
The massive black mastiff stood up, stretched his powerful legs, let out a deep, satisfied sigh, and gave his tail a slow, rhythmic sweep against the floorboards.
Nathan picked up his leather briefcase, buttoned his jacket, and walked toward the grand front doors, leaving the past buried where it belonged.
