Vincent stood by the window, eyes on the city, one hand in his pocket, one holding a glass of brandy. His mind held a thousand thoughts.
Like diamonds the skyline of Beverly Hills stretched outside his window, the cool air from the night flapped the curtains gently. He feared for her safety, he couldn't push the sickening feeling— that Grim Voss would find her again— out of his mind.
In the background Carlos's fingers clicked fast on the keyboard, his 55 year old face washed in the blue light of the screen.
He knew Vincent was waiting and it added to his anxiety. What he was staring at on the screen was a world Vincent shouldn't tangle with. He swallowed hard, his mind racing.
"Carlos. Why do I have a feeling you're keeping me waiting on purpose". Vincent could read the room. He'd grown beside the man for the last 34 years and he knew him, inside—out.
"Did you find him?" Vincent's tone was quiet, but it pressed.
Carlos didn't look up. "I found enough."
Vincent's reflection shifted in the glass. "Enough?"
"Three names, same man," Carlos said. "Grim Voss here. Elias Crane in Berlin. Victor Hale back in Hamburg. Different suits, same chipped onyx ring. He doesn't hide it. He flaunts it."
Vincent turned a little, one brow lifted. "And?"
Carlos pulled a grainy photo onto the desk. A hand holding a glass. A single black king tucked under it. "He leaves these behind. Not a signature. A warning."
Vincent studied the picture. His jaw moved once. "Where was this taken?"
"No date. Could be five years. Could be last night. Doesn't matter. He leaves ledgers too. Judges. CEOs. Names you don't touch. Crossed out like debts collected. Not money. Silence."
Vincent faced him now. "Receipts."
"And recordings. Whispers. A federal seal on one file—he's flagged, but redacted. If the Feds know him, they're not talking. Probably can't." Carlos leaned back. "One prosecutor tried last year. His career ended in two days."
Silence stretched. Vincent's fingers drummed the glass once, twice. His calm wasn't calm anymore.
"Why isn't he already in a cell?"
Carlos's eyes flicked up. "Because he doesn't just move women or cash. He moves stories. Papers print what he feeds. Politicians stutter when his name comes up. DAs make speeches then retire. He doesn't fight. He edits the room so he's already won."
Vincent's voice went low. "I don't like being vulnerable."
"You're not," Carlos said. "But he humbles men who thought they weren't either. That's his game. A card in the pocket. A ring in the dark. Then men vanish. Or worse—they stay, but they're not men anymore. They're puppets."
Vincent's eyes narrowed. "Find me someone he's erased. A name. A date. Something I can use."
Carlos shook his head. "That's fingerprints. He watches for them. He calls when men are alone."
Vincent stepped away from the glass. "Then give me noise. Something I can drown him with."
Carlos slid the folder shut, the black king hidden away. "You'll have it. But noise doesn't scare him. He sells silence."
When Vincnet didn't speak Carlos hesitated, he knew what was going on in the boy's mind. Just like his father. "Ser, with the heat from the divorce and the looming threat of a takeover, this would be too much a bigger bite"
"Good because I'm hungry" His eyes flashed.
"You'd be putting her life in danger, if it isn't already. Making women like her disappear is a work he leaves for his under dogs"
Vincent didn't answer. He looked out at the city again, the calm mask back on, but his reflection in the glass tapped once more.
***
Carlos was right, because when Jennifer opened her door the next morning Voss stepped in with two of his men, all three in black suits. Voss walked like he owned the place. He lowered his tall figure into the chair and crossed his legs.
Jennifer froze in the center of the room. Her breath slowed and she feared she'd pass out from lack of oxygen. Voss's eyes hovered around her. Her body trembled unable to move on its own.
"Gentlemen" He shifted in his seat. "How many times a month am I seen?" His Russian accent was cold like ice flakes, the gazes from his eyes menacing.
"Not once sir". One of the men answered sharply.
"You hear that Jennifer." His head tilted slowly towards her. "Not once. You know what that means?" He reached for an apple from the basket on the table. Jennifer shoke her head dismissively, tears rolling down her cheeks.
"It means a man like myself has so much to do, yet I drag myself twice in the same week on a two hours journey to come down to this filt". His teeth bit a chunk out of the green fruit. Jennifer shuddered at crunching sound of the bite.
Voss eyed the fresh mints on the table. He gestured to one of his men. The man counted it briefly and nodded to him "It's complete."
"Well, well, well, will you look at that. Maybach boy has come to the rescue". He threw the apple at her and she jumped, her heart almost stopping.
He stood and walked slowly to her. "Jennifer" his deep voice shoke the walls. His thumb traced the cut on her lip. "I like you, but I don't like deaf girls". He smirked, an evil look on his face. "Stay away from him. This is my final warning. Even you Jennifer won't get more than three warnings".
At the door just before he left, he stopped and turned to her. "Supposing you were to find out you had a sister. And Supposing I send her remains in a box with a DNA result matching yours. We wouldn't want that right?"
The smirk on his face was the last thing she saw before she collapsed to the floor. She wept, a new sense of fear coming over her, what was she to do?