Chapter 10 - The Unraveling of Arthur Velez
While Patrick Sloane was discovering that his empire had turned to dust, his former legal architect was learning a harder lesson about international transit.
Arthur Velez sat in a small, windowless holding room at O’Hare International Airport, staring at the fluorescent lights humming overhead. His expensive gold Rolex had been confiscated by customs agents three hours ago, along with his second passport, his burner phone, and three leather-bound notebooks containing the encrypted routing numbers of every offshore account he had managed for the Sloane syndicate.
The door swung open, and Agent Vance walked in, followed by a local detective from the Chicago Police Department’s financial crimes unit. Vance tossed a thick manila folder onto the metal table with a sharp slap.
“Flight to Montreal was canceled, Arthur,” Vance said, pulling out a steel chair and sitting down opposite the lawyer. “Turns out Canadian customs takes a dim view of executives traveling under diplomatic immunity papers issued by a defunct shell corporation in the Cayman Islands.”
Arthur swallowed hard, his throat dry as sandpaper. He tried to straighten his silk tie, but his fingers were shaking too violently to find the knot. “I want to call my attorney. I have a constitutional right to counsel—privilege applies to—”
“Privilege doesn't apply to a co-conspirator who was actively tampering with a federal witness and forging guardianship transfer documents,” the detective interrupted, leaning forward. “Let’s talk about the trust funds, Arthur. Specifically, the four million dollars that vanished from the Romano estate accounts between October and February.”
Arthur stared at the manila folder. He knew the game was over. The moment Roman Romano had slid that shredder across the table in the penthouse library, Arthur’s life as a respected corporate fixer had ceased to exist. He had spent ten years believing he was the smartest man in any room he entered, only to realize he was just a disposable tool in a game played by men who viewed human lives as ledger entries.
“If I talk,” Arthur whispered, his voice trembling, “if I give you the names of the judges in Cook County who signed off on the Sloane asset transfers... what kind of protection am I looking at?”
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Agent Vance leaned back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Federal witness protection in a quiet town in the Pacific Northwest. No law books, no mahogany desks, and definitely no silk ties.”
Arthur closed his eyes, a single tear of pure self-pity tracking down his powdered cheek. “Write it down,” he said.
