Chapter 13 - Daniel Reed’s Last CaseKhloe had buried Daniel Reed on a rainy Tuesday.
She remembered the sound of rain hitting the black umbrellas. Remembered his mother leaning so heavily against her that Khloe thought they might both fall into the grave. Remembered a judge placing a hand on her shoulder and saying tragedy was senseless.
Senseless.
That word had haunted her for years.
Now Dana Whitlock sat beside her hospital bed and suggested Daniel’s death might have made perfect sense to the people who ordered it.
Khloe’s voice came out flat.
“Tell me everything.”
Marcus moved closer, but he did not interrupt.
Dana opened the folder.
“Daniel was defending a whistleblower named Peter Lang. Lang worked for a construction firm tied to several Rossi-funded development projects. He claimed judges were being paid to approve seizures of low-income properties.”
Khloe’s lips parted.
“Daniel told me he had a big case. He wouldn’t say more because he wanted to protect me.”
Dana nodded. “He had documents. They disappeared after the crash.”
“The police said his car was hit by a drunk driver.”
“The driver was drunk,” Dana said. “But he also received fifty thousand dollars through a chain of accounts two days before the crash.”
Marcus’s eyes hardened.
Dana continued, “That chain connects to one of the shell companies in your file.”
Khloe closed her eyes.
The room tilted.
Daniel smiling over burnt coffee.
Daniel dancing with her in their tiny kitchen.
Daniel kissing her forehead the morning he died and saying, “After this case, we’ll take a real vacation.”
She opened her eyes.
“Does Isabella know?”
“We don’t know.”
“Does Vittorio?”
“Yes.”
The answer was immediate.
Khloe’s fingers curled around the hospital blanket.
Marcus spoke quietly. “What do you need from us?”
Dana looked at him.
“Full cooperation. No private retaliation. No backroom settlements. No family management.”
Marcus nodded.
Dana’s gaze sharpened.
“I mean that, Mr. Thorne. Men like Vittorio Rossi survive because other powerful men decide quiet solutions are cleaner than public truth.”
Marcus looked at Khloe.
“I understand.”
Khloe studied him.
This time, she believed he did.
Not completely.
But enough to begin.
Dana turned back to Khloe.
“There’s another issue. Celeste Thorne’s name appears in two foundation transfer records.”
Marcus went still.
Khloe closed her eyes.
Of course.
Dana slid the page across.
“Not proof of criminal intent yet. But she signed approvals for funds that moved through a charitable partnership and into Rossi-controlled entities.”
Marcus picked up the page.
His mother’s signature sat at the bottom in elegant blue ink.
He knew that signature.
He had seen it on birthday cards, trust documents, and condolence letters.
Now it looked like a weapon.
“How much?” he asked.
“Forty-eight million over six years.”
Silence filled the room.
Khloe stared at Marcus.
Forty-eight million.
That was not an oversight.
That was a pipeline.
Marcus’s voice was low. “Did my father know?”
Dana paused.
“We don’t know.”
Marcus looked out the window.
His father had died three years earlier with a reputation for honor, at least by billionaire standards. Strict. Cold. Fair. Marcus had spent his adult life trying to earn the approval of a dead man.
Now even that memory felt unstable.
Khloe’s expression softened despite herself.
“Marcus.”
He turned.
The pain in his face was quiet.
Private.
“Don’t protect her,” Khloe said.
He gave a humorless laugh. “Which one?”
“Any of them.”
He nodded.
Dana stood. “Federal agents will execute warrants soon. When that happens, the Rossis will become desperate.”
“They already are,” Elias said from the doorway.
Dana looked at him.
Elias held up his phone.
“Police just confirmed Celeste boarded a private helicopter from Westchester thirty minutes ago.”
Marcus stood.
“Where is she going?”
Elias’s face was grim.
“The flight plan says Martha’s Vineyard.”
Elaine appeared behind him, breathless.
“That’s false. Transponder disappeared over Long Island Sound.”
Dana’s expression changed.
“She’s running.”
Marcus grabbed his phone.
Khloe said his name.
He stopped.
She looked at him steadily.
“No private retaliation.”
He held her gaze.
Then slowly lowered the phone.
“I’ll call Dana’s office.”
Dana nodded once.
It was a small moment.
But it mattered.
Across the city, Vittorio Rossi sat in a black car outside a private airfield, watching the empty sky where Celeste’s helicopter should have appeared.
His phone rang.
Isabella.
He ignored it.
Then Nolan called.
He answered.
“She didn’t land,” Nolan said.
Vittorio’s eyes narrowed.
“What do you mean she didn’t land?”
“I mean Celeste vanished.”
Vittorio looked toward the runway.
For the first time in years, he felt the ground shift beneath him.
Celeste Thorne had not run from the law.
May you like
She had run from him.
And if she was running, she had taken something valuable enough to trade for her life.
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