Chapter 4 - THE EVICTION NOTICE
Daniel collapsed to his knees on the filthy subway platform.
I stared at him, paralyzed by shock. The man who had lectured me about table service three hours ago was bleeding out on the concrete, claiming he knew about my mother’s death.
Viktor didn’t hesitate. He kicked the folded paper toward me, keeping his eyes locked on Daniel.
I picked it up. My hands were shaking so badly I could barely unfold it.
It wasn’t a secret document. It was a copy of my eviction notice. The exact one sitting in my purse.
But across the bottom, someone had written a note in red ink: Squeeze her harder. Make her desperate enough to use the key.
“What is this?” I demanded, stepping toward Daniel. “Who wrote this?”
Daniel looked up, gasping for air. “Peter Horvath. The lawyer. He didn’t betray Viktor for Stefan. He works for the debt collection agency that owns your mother’s hospital bills.”
Viktor’s posture changed instantly. “Horvath is using a shell company?”
“Yes,” Daniel coughed. “They’ve been tracking Mara for months. They knew Ilona Nagy gave her the iron key. But they didn’t know where she hid it. So they bought her mother’s medical debt. They manufactured the eviction. They were trying to force Mara to go to her grandmother’s safety deposit box for cash, so they could follow her and steal the proxy seal.”
My stomach violently hollowed out.
The last fourteen months of my life—the sleepless nights, the hunger, the crushing fear of losing my son—it hadn’t been bad luck. It was a trap. They had tortured me financially to flush out a piece of metal.
“Daniel,” I sobbed, the anger making my voice sharp. “Why didn’t you tell me? I worked for you!”
“I was… I was hired to watch you,” Daniel whispered, clutching his stomach. “To make sure you didn’t run. But tonight, when Horvath changed the document, he moved his timetable up. He sent Stefan to kill you.”
“Why are you telling us this now?” Viktor asked coldly.
“Because Stefan found out I tried to warn the courier,” Daniel said, his eyes glazing over. “He shot me. Horvath is at the firm. He’s going to force the vote… using your signature, Mara. He forged it.”
Daniel slumped forward, his forehead hitting the concrete. He didn’t move again.
Toby buried his face in my jacket, trembling. I held him tight, feeling entirely hollowed out.
“We have to go to the police,” I said, looking at Viktor. “This is insane. I have a child!”
“The police cannot stop Peter Horvath from seizing a multi-billion dollar shipping conglomerate,” Viktor said softly. “And if he seizes it, he will inherit the resources to hunt you and Toby down for the rest of your lives. The only way to stop him is to beat him to the ledger.”
He looked at my son, then at me.
“Trust me, Mara. For one night.”
I looked at the bloody eviction notice in my hand. They had used my mother’s suffering against me.
“Where is the ledger?” I asked.
“Penn Station,” Viktor said. “Private locker. Let’s go.”
We abandoned the subway and walked into the storm, sticking to the shadows of the skyscrapers. By the time we reached Penn Station, we were soaked to the bone.
The terminal was vast, echoing with the late-night announcements. Viktor led us to the lower concourse, toward a row of high-security biometric lockers.
He stopped at locker 402.
“The key,” Viktor said.
I took the iron key from the silver bracelet and slid it into the heavy lock. It turned with a satisfying click.
Viktor pulled the metal door open.
Inside the locker, there was no box. There was no gold.
There was only a thick, gray cashmere coat folded neatly on the metal shelf.
Viktor went entirely still.
“Viktor?” I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs. “Where is the ledger?”
He reached into the pocket of the cashmere coat. He pulled out a small, child’s drawing. It was drawn in crayon. A picture of a wolf holding a scale.
“This coat,” Viktor whispered, his voice cracking for the first time. “This is the coat my father was wearing the night he was murdered.”
He turned the drawing over.
Written on the back, in perfect Hungarian, were three words.
I kept him.
I looked at Viktor. “Kept who?”
Before he could answer, the PA system overhead cracked with static.
A voice echoed through the terminal. It wasn’t a train announcement. It was speaking Hungarian.
“Hello, Viktor,” the voice echoed off the tile walls.
Viktor’s eyes widened in absolute terror.
“That’s impossible,” Viktor breathed.
“Who is it?” I panicked.
May you like
Viktor looked at me, the color drained completely from his face.
“It’s my father.”
