Wounded Army Captain Clara Doherty Faces Her Ruthless Syndicate Brother Raymond Over a $4.5 Million Military Kickback Ring at Fort Campbell to Avenge Her Murdered Fiancé
The rain had stopped, leaving the asphalt shimmering under the streetlights. Outside the river warehouse, Kowalski handed me a sealed envelope.
“PFC Gable,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “Cleared. The dummy truck was found empty. Raymond’s lookouts were convinced it was a diversion, just not for you. No charges. He’s got a transfer out of Fort Campbell, starting next week. Fresh slate.”
A wave of relief washed over me. At least one innocent person wouldn’t pay for Raymond’s crimes. “Thank you, Frank.”
“He was just a kid, Captain,” Kowalski muttered, a flicker of something in his eyes. “Didn’t deserve to be dragged into this mess.”
My thoughts turned to the remaining threads of Raymond’s empire. Even after his death, his legitimate-front businesses and hidden assets could still create problems, or worse, tempt me. I had renounced everything, but the paperwork still needed to be handled.
“The corporate land deeds,” I said to Kowalski. “Raymond’s other properties, the ones tied to the contracting fronts. The Commission decided?”
“They’re being absorbed,” he confirmed. “Folded into the regional interests. But there’s a set of master deeds, the original ones. For the land parcels Raymond acquired with the insurance money, before he folded them into the holding companies.”
“And Finch?” I asked. The corrupt appraiser had aided Raymond, but his affidavit had been crucial.
“Finch is under Commission mandate,” Kowalski explained, his face grim. “He’s not going anywhere. His operations are now under direct oversight. As for those original deeds, he’s holding them, for now, in his personal safe at his office. The Commission wants them secured, out of reach of any… curious parties.”
“Take me there,” I said. It was my final act of renunciation.
We drove to Finch’s nondescript adjusting firm. The office was dark, quiet. Kowalski used a master key to let us in. We found Finch’s heavy-duty safe, tucked away behind a fake panel in his private office. Kowalski opened it with a precise twist of a dial.
Inside, among stacks of ledgers and documents, was a small, locked metal box. It contained the original, notarized land deeds for properties in the Clarksville area, totaling millions of dollars, all purchased with the blood money from Mark’s death. These were the assets I could have theoretically claimed as Raymond’s next of kin, before my sacrifice.
I took them, my fingers brushing the cool steel.
“You need to put them in,” Kowalski said, his voice flat. “Seal them. Your final act of separation.”
I placed the metal box carefully back into Finch’s safe. The click of the heavy door shutting, the turning of the lock, was final. I walked away from millions, from any chance of a future with financial stability. I was penniless. My choice was absolute, my ruin self-imposed, but the ledger was clean.
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