Chapter 22: Meeting
"Max," said Sean carefully. "The workers referenced in these documents. Are any of them still in a situation that can be addressed?"
Max looked at him. "I found names. Some of them are still in this city. Some aren’t. I don’t know their current situations."
Sean thought about this for a moment. "That’s worth looking into. Not today. But worth looking into."
Max studied him. "You’re thinking bigger than one building."
"I’m thinking about what’s right," said Sean. "But one thing at a time." He looked at the screen. "Print me everything that’s directly relevant to Victor and his political connections and the Crestline operation. I’ll handle the rest separately."
"The worker exploitation material," said Max. "What are you going to do with it?"
Sean looked at him. "The right thing. Eventually. But if I move on that right now before I’ve secured the building situation, Victor has time to destroy evidence and run. I need him to feel safe until he’s standing in front of me."
Max considered that. Then he nodded slowly. "I’ll print what you need."
He started printing.
Forty pages of documentation. Banking records. Bribery payments. Corporate structure diagrams. Email correspondence. Enough to end Victor Hale’s career, his freedom, and his reputation in one afternoon.
Sean took the folder from Max. He looked at it for a moment. Then he looked up.
"Max," he said. "Your sister’s account at Eastgate is cleared. The surgery is fully funded."
Max had been looking at his laptops. He went still.
"I told you I’d handle it," said Sean. "The billing department has authorization for everything."
Max was quiet for a moment. When he turned back to Sean his expression was completely unreadable. But his breathing had changed again. The same way it changed in the library when the fifty thousand dollars hit his account.
"She doesn’t know yet," said Sean. "I told them to let you tell her."
Max looked at the wall across the room for a moment. Just for a moment. Then he looked back at his laptop.
"You still owe me fifty thousand," he said.
"It’s on its way," said Sean. He sent the payment from his phone.
[50,000 dollars sent]
[Balance: $1,545,480]
[100,000 dollars received]
[New Balance: $1,645,480]
Max’s phone buzzed.
"Thank you," said Max. Very quietly. Like the words cost something.
"Thank you," said Sean. "You did good work."
He picked up the folder and left.
--------
Sean called Victor Hale’s office the next morning.
The assistant who answered was professional and efficient and very good at her job of blocking access to her employer.
"Mr. Hale’s schedule is fully committed for the next three weeks," she said. "If you’d like to leave your information, I can pass it along and—"
"Tell him," said Sean, "that Sean Miller has information about Crestline Financial Solutions and Apex Holdings that he’d prefer to discuss in private. Tell him that I’m available tomorrow afternoon. Tell him that the alternative to meeting me is significantly less comfortable than the meeting itself."
Silence.
"I’ll pass that message along," said the assistant. Carefully.
"Thank you," said Sean. He hung up.
Victor Hale called him back in forty minutes.
"Mr. Miller." Victor’s voice was smooth. Deep. The practiced warmth of a man who had been charming difficult people for forty years. "I understand you wanted to speak with me."
"That’s right," said Sean. "Tomorrow. Two o’clock. I’ll come to your office."\
"May I ask what this is regarding?" said Victor. Professionally curious. Not concerned. Not yet.
"I mentioned it to your assistant," said Sean. "Crestline and Apex. I have some information about those entities that I think you’d prefer not to become public. We can discuss the details tomorrow."
A pause. Very brief. But real.
"I see," said Victor. His voice was still smooth. But something underneath it had shifted. "Two o’clock tomorrow. I’ll make time."
"Excellent," said Sean. He hung up.
He looked at the folder on his desk.
Victor Hale had been doing what he did for twenty-two years. He’d pressured people. Broken them. Taken their properties and their dignity and in some cases a great deal more. And he’d done it because he had money, connections, and the absolute certainty that nobody who crossed him could afford the consequences.
Tomorrow that certainty was going to meet something it wasn’t equipped for.
Sean opened his phone and called James.
"James. Tomorrow at one thirty. Victor Hale’s office. The Hale Property Group building on Meridian Avenue."
"Of course, sir," said James. "Would you like me to wait outside or—"
"Wait outside," said Sean. "I won’t be long."
Victor Hale’s office was exactly what Sean expected.
Twelfth floor. Corner suite. Panoramic view of the city. Everything in the room was designed to make the person sitting on the visitor’s side of the desk feel small.
Victor himself was sixty-one years old. Silver-haired. Broad-shouldered. The kind of man who had been physically imposing in his youth and still carried the memory of it. He stood when Sean was shown in and held out his hand with the practiced warmth of someone who had shaken a thousand hands and knew exactly how much pressure to apply.
"Mr. Miller," said Victor. "Please. Sit."
Sean sat.
Victor sat across from him. His assistant closed the door. They were alone.
Victor looked at Sean for a moment. Then something moved through his expression. Something that might have been amusement. He was looking at an eighteen-year-old in a good suit and recalibrating whether this required his full attention or just his patience.
"You’re younger than I expected," said Victor.
"Most people are older than I expected," said Sean. He placed the folder on the desk between them. "That’s for you."
Victor looked at the folder. He didn’t touch it immediately. "And what is this?"
"Open it and find out," said Sean.
Victor picked up the folder. Opened it.
Sean watched his face.
At first there was nothing. The practiced blank expression of a man who was used to reviewing documents that could make or break things.
