Chapter 8 - The Ledger of Sins
Elena locked herself inside a deserted 24-hour laundromat on the edge of the city. The fluorescent lights hummed loudly above as she sat at a plastic folding table in the back, plugging the stolen flash drive into her encrypted police laptop.
David was on speakerphone, remotely mirroring her screen through a secure connection.
“Okay, let’s see what Marcus Thorne is so desperate to hide,” Elena muttered, clicking open the single folder on the drive.
A massive spreadsheet populated the screen. It wasn't just a list of names; it was a comprehensive, meticulously documented ledger of an entire criminal empire. Sarah Jennings had been Thorne’s bookkeeper. She had recorded every illegal transaction, every bribe, and every shipment of illicit cargo that came through the Chicago ports.
But as Elena scrolled down, the air was knocked out of her lungs.
“David,” Elena whispered, horrified. “Look at the payroll tab.”
“I see it,” David replied, his voice heavy with disgust.
There, neatly organized by date and amount, were the names of the city’s protectors. Two precinct captains, a prominent local judge, three district attorneys, and over a dozen narcotics detectives. They were all taking regular, massive payouts from Thorne’s shell companies.
“He doesn't just have moles in the department,” Elena said, running a hand over her face. “He owns the department. If I had taken this to my captain, I would have been shot at my own desk.”
“Sarah knew this,” David realized. “That’s why she told Maya to only give the code to an officer she trusted. She was terrified of the uniform itself.”
Elena’s laptop pinged. A new file had just been forcibly deposited onto the desktop. The hacker on Thorne’s payroll had tracked her IP address the moment she accessed the drive.
It was a video file titled: Final Warning.
Elena clicked play. The screen showed a dark, freezing concrete basement. Sarah Jennings was tied to a steel chair. Her face was brutally bruised, her lip split and bleeding, but her eyes were defiant.
May you like
Marcus Thorne stepped into the frame, gripping Sarah by the hair and pulling her head back. He stared directly into the camera lens.
“You have my property, Rostova. I want it back. The abandoned railyard on 16th Street. 6:00 a.m. Come alone, or I start mailing you pieces of the mother.”
