Chapter 3 - The Empty Grave
The revelation hit Brooklyn like a physical blow.
She had cooked dinner for Cassandra just two weeks ago.
Cassandra had sat at her dining table, drinking her wine, smiling at her husband.
“He drained my grandmother’s inheritance to buy her a house,” Brooklyn realized, sickened.
Winston poured a glass of dark amber whiskey and handed it to her.
“Drink it,” he ordered gently.
“You need the fire right now.”
She took a sip, the liquor burning a path down her throat.
“I want to freeze the account,” Brooklyn said.
Elias hesitated, looking at Winston for approval.
“If you freeze the account, the bank will notify him immediately,” Elias warned.
“Do it,” Winston said.
Elias tapped the enter key, and the monitor flashed red.
The offshore transfer was officially blocked, and the funds were reverted to holding.
Less than three minutes later, Elias’s computer pinged with an alert.
“Bradley is calling the bank’s fraud department right now,” Elias said.
Winston smiled, pulling a sophisticated headset from his desk.
He tossed it to Elias.
“Intercept the routing, play the part,” Winston commanded.
Elias quickly patched the phone call through his own server, disguising his voice with a slight corporate filter.
“Chicago Mutual, fraud department, how can I help you?” Elias answered smoothly.
Brooklyn leaned in to listen to the speakerphone.
Bradley’s voice echoed through the room, filled with panicked aggression.
“My wife just passed away, and her savings account was just frozen,” Bradley barked.
“I am the sole beneficiary, I need that lock removed immediately.”
Elias typed softly.
“I apologize, sir, but the account was frozen due to a biometric security trigger,” Elias lied perfectly.
“A biometric trigger?” Bradley asked, confused.
“Yes,” Elias said smoothly.
“The account owner accessed the vault in person ten minutes ago using her fingerprint.”
Silence fell over the phone line.
Brooklyn could hear Bradley’s jagged, terrified breathing.
“That’s impossible,” Bradley whispered.
“My wife is at the bottom of the lake.”
Elias ended the call without another word.
Brooklyn let out a harsh laugh, enjoying the sheer terror in her husband’s voice.
But her laughter died when Elias’s second monitor suddenly lit up with a police dispatch alert.
Winston leaned over the desk, his expression darkening.
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“They just pulled a body out of Lake Geneva,” Winston read from the screen.
“And Bradley has just officially identified the corpse as Brooklyn Whitfield.”
