Page 58 of Victorious Vice

“Good. Let’s go. Daniela’s already in the car.”

“Did she know…?”

He shakes his head. “No. I had a suspicion about why we were really here, but I wasn’t sure.”

“And you didn’t tell me?” I grit out.

“I was under orders from your grandfather. But you’ve done it. He’ll be pleased.” He looks over his shoulder. “Let’s go before the security comes back on. We have to be careful of the night guards. Morehouse and the other staff are all in bed.”

I nod.

Agudelo is gone for the night, and I’ll be gone by morning.

With both Serena and Daniela.

So the deal won’t be finalized.

Mario won’t care.

Because I have what he ultimately wanted me to get for him.

The drive to the airport is long, and the air in the car is tense. Serena is, of course, out of it, and Daniela is gripping the armrest for dear life, her nails digging into the leather.

It’s clear that a lively conversation isn’t going to help pass the time on the drive to the airport, so I get out my laptop. It’s connected to the Internet through my phone.

Agudelo will try to come after me. Vega as well. And then there’s McAllister to deal with too. I have to figure out a way to make sure all three of them are taken care of.

First there’s Vega. I have a feeling he’ll be the slipperiest of them all. After all, he convinced my entire family that he was dead for years. And Mario Bianchi is a difficult man to deceive.

In my observations of Vega the last two weeks, I’ve noted only one consistency—he attends a local soccer match every Sunday in some sort of devotion to his roots. He invited me along to the game last weekend and bought me an empanada from a local street vendor, who recognized him immediately. Perhaps there’s a way to poison him through there.

Then there’s McAllister. I haven’t gotten the chance to know him too well, besides our interactions at his home and then atthe hospital. In both instances, I was otherwise occupied. First with Belinda, and then with my dying mother. I’ll have to hire a private investigator to figure out his routine and then work from there. He will not be happy about my marriage to Daniela, so I’ll have to make a strike on him pretty quickly as well.

I’ll also have to figure out a way to make sure that Belinda is taken care of in the wake of her father’s demise. I make a mental note to get in contact with some trusted sources with social services.

Which brings me to Agudelo. He will be the easiest. I’ve been able to observe him in pretty close quarters the past three weeks. His routine isn’t terribly predictable, but his propensity for lavish parties is. Every weekend he hosts several of his friends at his mansion along with an assemblage of female escorts. Daniela, thank God, was no longer required to attend these parties after we announced our engagement, but I was still expected to make an appearance. Agudelo, even after the engagement, encouraged me to take one of the women to my bedroom, but of course I never did. His friends did, though. One by one they would disappear into one of the mansion’s many bedrooms.

Agudelo himself would wait until the last of his friends had taken a woman and then retire to his study for a cigar, usually around midnight. That will be when he’s at his most vulnerable. I send a few messages to some Bianchi allies on the ground here to see if they can’t get in to one of those parties and take him out after he retires.

I bet there’s an in through the waitstaff. He always hires a bunch to hand out booze and hors d’oeuvres. Maybe if I can hack into his finances, I can figure out which caterers he hires and go from there.

Luckily, this is something I’m quite good at. Every so often while I was in Europe, I had to scrape a few bucks off of somedemented millionaire’s bank account to keep my own funds safe. I make sure that my VPN is still secure and then open a custom hacking tool on my laptop—a program I coded myself while overseas, designed to exploit common vulnerabilities in financial databases. I know Agudelo keeps most of his money in the Banco de Bogotá, as I’ve seen his checkbook a few times whenever he’s made payments. I access the bank’s website and then launch a phishing attack, planting malware that allows me to bypass the security layers. Within minutes, I’ve gained access to Agudelo’s encrypted financial records.

I skim through the information, looking for any information on who Agudelo has hired to cater his raucous parties. Looks like he’s engaged the services of a place called “Sabor Ajiaco” for his last several events. That’s my in.

I’m about to log off and wipe my digital trail clean when I notice a few big transfers of money from Agudelo’s account. They’ve both been made in American dollars, which seems odd. The first is a $100,000 transfer to someone named J. Smith. I can’t help a laugh. That’s a fake name if I ever saw one.

But the next transfer makes my blood run cold.

Fifty million dollars. Dated the same day I flew to Colombia.

Made payable to the Raven’s Wings Foundation.

Present Day…

The ballroom is buzzing with chatter, laughter, and the clinking of champagne glasses. Crystal chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting sparkles over the elegantly dressed attendees. I stand near the entrance, greeting guests and keeping a watchful eye on the room. This event is crucial for the Bellamys’ public image—and for my own plans.

I scan the crowd, pausing here and there on familiar faces. Politicians, businessmen, socialites—all here to support a good cause. The Raven’s Wings Foundation is a noble effort, dedicated to funding blood cancer research and treatment. It’s a legitimate cause, which makes my presence here all the more important.

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