Chapter 4 - The Safehouse of Dead Men
Tristan didn't head toward his estate in Long Island, nor did he head toward any of the official family properties in Manhattan. Marcus knew every square inch of the Vail empire. Instead, he drove south, toward an old marina in Staten Island that had belonged to his father twenty years ago. It was a place omitted from the official registries—a graveyard for rotted trawlers and broken dreams.
Inside a rusted corrugated metal shed at the edge of the pier sat a small, heated office. Tristan carried Eli inside, placing him on a vinyl sofa that smelled of brine and old tobacco.
"Clara, find the green metal box under the sink," Tristan ordered as he stripped off his blood-stained coat.
He took the flash drive and plugged it into an old, air-gapped laptop he kept in the desk drawer. While the machine booted up, he tended to Eli. The boy’s skin was clammy. Tristan took the inhaler, pressed it to Eli’s lips, and triggered the final dose. The boy inhaled sharply, his chest expanding as the medicine forced his bronchial tubes open. The whistling stopped, replaced by deep, exhausted breaths.
Clara returned with the box. Inside were emergency medical supplies, cash, and clean passports.
"He's stable for now," Tristan said, looking at the girl. "But he needs a hospital within twenty-four hours. This place is temporary."
He turned to the laptop screen. The flash drive had opened, revealing a single directory titled The Ledger of Glass.
As Tristan scrolled through the files, the true scope of the conspiracy unfurled. It wasn't just a coup against him. His own father, the patriarch who had built the Vail family before dying of a supposed heart attack five years ago, had been poisoned. The digital signatures on the offshore accounts showed that Marcus Doyle had been skimming millions for a decade, funneling the money to the Kane syndicate—the Vails' fiercest rivals.
But the final document was the one that broke Tristan’s composure. It was a recorded conversation between Marcus and Tristan’s younger brother, Julian.
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"Tristan is too soft," Julian’s voice echoed from the laptop speakers. "He won't war with the Kanes. Once he’s out of the picture, we split the docks fifty-fifty."
Tristan sat back, the silence of the marina wrapping around him like a shroud. His cousin. His brother. His family. They hadn't just betrayed him; they had sold the family’s blood to the very people who wanted them extinct.
