Chapter 12 - Shadows of the Past
The music shifted to a slower, more intimate tempo as couples drifted onto the center of the floor. Roman pulled me close, his hand resting securely against the small of my back as we began to move in rhythm with the waltz.
Even after ten months of shared mornings, quiet nights by the fireplace, and the daily chaos of raising two children while running a multi-state enterprise, the closeness still felt like a hard-won victory. We had built an empire of soil, logistics, and legal triumph, yet every so often, the ghosts of the old world reminded us how close we had come to the abyss.
"The federal prosecutor called me this morning," Roman said quietly, his lips brushing my hair as we turned past a tall marble pillar.
I looked up, meeting his sharp grey eyes. "About Vance's trial?"
"The trial's been fast-tracked," Roman replied, his expression hardening. "With the digital ledgers you decrypted and the asset seizure filings you orchestrated, his defense team has completely collapsed. He’s looking at twenty years minimum in a federal penitentiary."
A cold, satisfying sense of finality settled into my chest. "Good. Let him spend the next two decades reading the bankruptcy filings of every shell company he used to ruin my father's life."
"There's more," Roman added, his voice dropping an octave. "Before his assets were fully frozen, Vance tried to liquidate a hidden offshore account tied to my father's old estate holdings in Canada. He left a paper trail."
I stiffened slightly in his arms. "What kind of paper trail?"
"Property deeds," Roman said, his gaze locked onto mine. "Land holdings right along the Niagara frontier. Commercial warehouses, shipping terminals, and... an old safehouse my father used during the height of the Buffalo syndicate wars in the nineties."
I stopped dancing, stepping back just enough to look him directly in the eye. "You think Vance had a backup plan? A secondary operation hidden right under our noses?"
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"I know he did," Roman said grimly. "And until we secure those deeds and hand them over to the federal receiver, we aren't entirely safe. Vance might be going away, but roaches like him always leave behind a scavenger."
"Then we don't wait for the feds to move," I said, a dangerous, familiar spark igniting in my chest. "We pack a bag, secure the children with Martha and Caleb, and take a drive to Niagara."
