Chapter 6 - The Billionaire’s Fixer
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Across town in a private wing of Rhode Island Hospital, Vance Hollis stood over his son’s bed. At sixty, Vance looked like he had been carved out of granite and expensive tailoring, his silver hair swept back and his jaw permanently clenched.
"Let me make sure I understand the magnitude of your stupidity," Vance said, his voice dangerously quiet after shutting the door in the doctor’s face. "Out of three hundred women in downtown Providence, you put your hands on Noel Ferraro?"
"I didn't know who she was!" Preston whined, his right arm encased in fresh fiberglass plaster. "She dresses like a pauper! She takes the bus! Why the hell would Dante Ferraro’s sister be wearing a hundred-dollar dress at the Meridian?"
"Because the girl hates what her brother is and refuses to touch his money, you idiot!" Vance snapped, slamming his palm against the steel bedrail. "And because of that, Dante treats her like a saint on a pedestal. Anyone who looks at her sideways disappears into the foundations of the interstate!"
Preston swallowed hard, shrinking back against the pillows.
"Nobody has to know," Preston insisted desperately. "The bartender—Delaney Marsh—she made everyone in the room delete the videos before anyone could post them. If we silence the bartender and make sure she never talks to Ferraro’s people, I can tell Dante that some drunk tourist grabbed Noel and I tried to stop him! That’s how I broke my wrist!"
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Vance stared at his son for a long, calculating moment. Slowly, the older man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out an encrypted satellite phone.
"A lie only works if there are no witnesses left to contradict it," Vance murmured, dialing a memorized number. "Captain Miller? It’s Vance. Take two of the private contractors off the harbor payroll. There’s a bartender named Delaney Marsh living on Atwells Avenue. Put her on a freighter bound for Panama tonight—or under the bay. I don't care which, as long as she’s gone before sunrise."
