Tell them, Richard stammered. Tell them we have a complication. He looked at the court documents on his desk. The forgery Julian had found wasn’t just a lucky break. Julian had likely analyzed the entire corporate structure of Apex Horizon before he even filed his appearance. He was five steps ahead. Richard needed a nuclear option. If he couldn’t beat Julian on the law and he couldn’t bribe him, he had to destroy the client.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed Vargo back. Forget the kid, Richard said, his voice dark and desperate. The kid is untouchable. We go after the grandmother. Dig up the tax records on the house, find a code violation, find a gas leak. I don’t care what it is. If we can condemn the house as unsafe, the city evicts her for us and the lawsuit becomes moot. That’s dirty, Sterling, Vargo said. Even for you. The woman is 80. I don’t care, Richard screamed, losing his composure completely.
I have a $20 million development deal on the line. Burn the house down if you have to, figuratively speaking. Just find me a reason to get her out before Friday morning. All right, Vargo sighed. I’ll make some calls to the code enforcement office
. I know a guy who owes me a favor. Inspector Graves. Do it, Richard hissed. He hung up. He walked to the window and looked out at the city. He felt powerful again. The law was just a game, and he knew how to cheat better than anyone. Julian Banks might be a genius, but he was still playing by the rules. Richard Sterling had stopped playing by the rules a long time ago. But Richard didn’t know one thing. Down on the street, sitting on a park bench, Julian Banks was listening to the conversation. He took the earbuds out of his ears. He looked at the high-tech directional microphone he had planted in the conference room during the recess. A trick he hadn’t learned at Columbia, but from his neighbors in the West End. Julian’s eyes were cold.
Code enforcement, Julian whispered to himself. Predictable. He picked up his phone and dialed the number. Hey, Grandma, Julian said, his voice instantly softening into warmth. Yeah, I’m coming over for dinner. Listen, I need you to pack an overnight bag. No, nothing is wrong. We’re just going to have a slumber party at Aunt Mae’s tonight. Trust me. I’m going to catch a rat.
Thursday night in the West End was usually quiet, save for the distant hum of traffic from I-20. But at 2:00 a.m., a dark sedan with no headlights rolled slowly down the street where Lucille Banks lived. Inside the car sat Inspector Graves. He was a man who had long ago traded his conscience for a gambling habit. Richard Sterling paid well, and Graves needed the money. He parked two blocks away and walked to the Victorian house carrying a heavy tool bag.
