Lorenzo
Quinn is still asleep when I’m dressed and ready to leave. I stand in the doorway for a moment and look at her. Her hair spread across the pillow, one hand curled near her face, breathing slow and even. She looks peaceful, something that’s taken time to get to. When she first moved in, she used to be as tense as a bow while sleeping. The fear she had while living in the Delaney home with her parents and that parasite of a sister of hers, put her on edge, even in her sleep. Not here, not anymore.
She's safe here, and always will be. That's the only thought that matters this morning. I close the door quietly and go downstairs.
Within thirty minutes, my office is filled with people. Ciro, Marco, Daithí, Prior, and Tempest.
Tempest doesn’t hesitate to get started, he opens the folder he brought with him and starts handing out pages of information he’s gathered. "The shell companies," he says to everyone. "All of them. I traced every layer." He spreads documents across the table. Corporate registrations, financial statements, transaction records, photographs. "They don't all connect directly. But when you follow every thread to the end—" He places one document in the center. "They all come back to one family."
I look at the name on the document, already knowing what I’m going to see. Hightower.
"Gregory Hightower," Tempest continues. "Billionaire mogul and has significant political connections across the globe. Long-standing Syndicate ally, his family has been adjacent to organized crime in the Northeast for forty years without ever being touched because they're too useful to too many people." He pauses, looking around the room. "He's given money to campaigns. He's provided legitimate business cover for operations. He's moved in these circles for decades and everybody in this room knows who he is."
Prior nods. "Gregory's been at Syndicate functions since we joined."
"So has Ronan," Daithí says. "So has Cesare. That's not evidence of anything."
"No," Tempest says. "It isn't." He places another document. "This is."
We all lean forward and read. The document is a financial analysis. Money is moving from Hightower holdings through three shell corporations into the offshore account. Not Gregory Hightower's primary holdings. A subsidiary with a single director listed.
Frederick Hightower.
"Gregory's son," I say.
"Gregory's son," Tempest confirms. "Frederick is thirty-one, has been educated in Europe, lives between London and Boston. On paper, he's a legitimate businessman running a venture capital operation." He places a photograph on top of the stacks of papers. "In practice, he's been operating inside the Syndicate world for years. Not as a member, but as a parasite."
"How long has he been connected to the leaks?" I ask.
"The financial trail goes back seven years," Tempest says. "But I think it started earlier than that. The financial structure is the end product of something that started with an information network. Years of accumulated intelligence feeding into a financial operation designed to exploit it."
Tempest slides the next file across the table. They’re Frederick Hightower’s travel records.
I skim the pages. The man must be a highflyer. He’s been to Boston, Dublin, and London, repeatedly. At first, it looks like normal business travel, but I start paying attention to the dates. I cross-reference them against meetings and family events that Tempest has managed to acquire in a single document.
A cold feeling settles in my gut, because the dates aren't random, they're lining up.
"Daire," I say.
"They've been involved for years," Tempest says. "I have hotel bookings going back to when she was seventeen. Messages I obtained through a friend of mine. Financial transfers from Hightower accounts to accounts in Daire's name that were buried under enough layers to look like nothing." He sighs. "They've been together longer than anyone knew. Certainly, longer than she was engaged to you and even longer than she was with Rurik Morozov."
The room goes very quiet and I turn to Daithí' and see that his jaw is set. He's looking at the documents without speaking and I can see his mind whirling. I leave him be, he’s learning a lot and he’ll need time.
Prior leans back in his chair. "So Rurik was a cover?"
"I think so," Tempest says. "Or Rurik was useful in a different way. Access to the Morozov organization, which meant more intelligence and more leverage." He looks at me. "Frederick has been building a position, and using Daire as his access point. She gave him Delaney intelligence. She was working on giving him Morozov intelligence, and she had enough access to the Mariano household through the engagement period to give him something there too."
"Bruno?" I ask.
"I haven't confirmed Bruno's direct connection to Hightower yet," Tempest says. "But the financial timing aligns. Bruno receives deposits that don't match his salary. The timing of those deposits matches the timing of Mariano intelligence appearing in Hightower's operational decisions." He holds my gaze. "It's not confirmed, but it's compelling."
It’s more than compelling. Bruno, the fucker. He’s been with this family for twenty years. He was one of the trusted men my father had. A man he trusted with the protection of Vittoria and my sisters.
"How was Daire getting Delaney intelligence at that level?" Prior asks. "She's the daughter, she's not in rooms where that information exists."
Daithí doesn't move, when everyone looks at him. He breathes out slowly. "Tony," he says.
"Tony," I confirm. "Tony Geraghty has been Ronan's right hand for over thirty years," I say. "He was in every meeting. He knew every decision before it was implemented. He had the access, the trust, and the history to move information out of your organization without anyone looking twice." I look at Daithí. "And Daire had leverage on him. What Orla saw gave her everything she needed to control Tony indefinitely."
