Chapter 4 - Breaking the Weak Link
Trenton lived in a glass penthouse overlooking the Pacific—a penthouse paid for with my blood and sweat.
That night, Vance, Elena, and I bypassed his building's security. Money opens every door in LA, and the duffel bag Elena had saved was our master key.
When Trenton walked into his penthouse at midnight, smelling of expensive scotch and cheap perfume, the lights were off.
"Hello, Trent," I said from the shadows.
He jumped, dropping his keys. I flicked on the lamp. I was sitting in his Italian leather armchair. Vance stood by the door. Elena stood by the window.
"Richard!" Trenton stammered, his face turning the color of wet ash. "How did you get in here? I'm calling the police!"
"You can call them," Vance said smoothly, tossing a thick file onto the coffee table. "But they’ll be very interested in the $15 million transferred to your private account three days before Sterling’s company collapsed."
Trenton froze.
"We have everything, Trent," I said, standing up. "I know Marcus and Cynthia orchestrated it. I know you were just the spineless pen-pusher who signed the checks. You have a choice. You give us the cryptographic key to the Cayman accounts right now, or Vance here leaks this file to the FBI, the IRS, and the SEC at 8:00 AM tomorrow."
Trenton began to hyperventilate. He was a coward who had always relied on bigger predators for protection.
"Marcus will kill me," Trenton sobbed, falling to his knees. "If I give you the key, he’ll have me killed!"
"Marcus is going to be too busy fighting for his own life to worry about yours," I said coldly. "The key, Trent. Now."
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Trembling, Trenton walked over to a fake electrical outlet on the wall, pried it open, and pulled out a small, encrypted USB drive. He handed it to me.
"You have twenty-four hours to leave the country, Trent," I whispered. "If I ever see your face in my city again, I will ruin you."
