I recognized my ex-husband Marcus the second he stepped out of room 1402 at the Grand Monarch Hotel, holding hands with his new fiancé.
The Velvet Lounge was Duke’s private domain, a lavish den of mahogany and dim lighting. Marcus burst through the heavy office doors, the faint strains of jazz music from downstairs a stark contrast to the storm brewing within him.
Duke sat behind his expansive desk, swirling a glass of amber liquid. He didn’t look up, merely gestured to the empty chair opposite him.
“Marcus,” Duke said, his voice calm, almost bored. “To what do I owe the pleasure of this… unscheduled visit?”
Marcus stood, chest heaving, his hand instinctively patting the hidden recorder beneath his blazer. “You destroyed my life, Duke. You murdered Malik. You forced Lisa to disappear. And you manipulated me into abandoning her.”
Duke finally looked up, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Such strong accusations, Marcus. Are you sure you’re feeling quite well?”
“Don’t play games with me,” Marcus snarled. “I know about Tasha. I know she and Alderman Williams stole your money and framed Lisa. I know everything.”
Duke took a slow sip of his bourbon. “Tasha is a problem. Her father is a bigger one. But Lisa… Lisa was always going to be an issue. Too smart, too loyal to her dead brother.”
“You admit it?” Marcus pressed, leaning across the desk. “You admit you killed Malik?”
Duke set his glass down, a chilling glint in his eyes. “Malik made a choice, Marcus. A poor one. He thought he could outsmart me.”
He reached into a desk drawer, pulling out a slim, leather folder. He opened it, revealing several customs manifests.
“You speak of truth,” Duke said, pushing the documents across the desk. “Let’s talk about yours.”
Marcus picked up the top manifest, his eyes scanning the fine print. His breath hitched. It was a shipment from a port in Veracruz, listing industrial equipment. But the cargo description seemed deliberately vague. And his signature. His actual signature, from three years ago, was at the bottom.
“What is this?” Marcus whispered, his mind struggling to comprehend.
“Those are customs declarations, Marcus,” Duke explained, his voice oozing false concern. “For all your lucrative real estate projects. Projects funded, I might add, by my… diversified investments.”
He tapped a finger on a specific line item. “That particular shipment? Not industrial equipment. High-grade weaponry. Destined for a few of our… less reputable partners. All signed off by you.”
Marcus dropped the manifest, his face paling. “No. I never… I only signed documents Tasha gave me. She said they were for the tax write-offs!”
“Did you read them, Marcus?” Duke asked, a predatory gleam in his eyes. “Every single line? Every legal clause? You’re a businessman, you should know better.”
“This is fraud,” Marcus stammered, his voice laced with panic. “I didn’t know.”
“Ignorance is not a defense, Marcus,” Duke said, leaning back in his chair, a triumphant smirk on his face. “If anything I’m involved in goes south, if any of my operations are exposed, you, Marcus Gaines, are looking at twenty years in a federal facility for smuggling, racketeering, and god knows what else. With your own signature on the evidence.”
He raised his glass again. “So tell me, Marcus. What exactly were you hoping to accomplish with your little recorder? Because it sounds like you just recorded yourself admitting to federal felonies.”
The blood drained from Marcus’s face. He was trapped. Not just by Duke’s threats, but by his own unwitting complicity.
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