All Chapters of The Son-in-Law Contract: Chapter 31
- Chapter 40
63 chapters
The First Leak
Their rented apartment in one of the 18 th district of Vienna was on the top floor of a rather quiet Altbau building- high ceilings, creaky parquet floors, with windows that commanded snow-covered rooftops and the distant Danube.Two days after the meeting with Sacher they had moved.No one followed them. No black cars. No late-night knocks.Nothing but the regular noises of a city in the winter: trams rattling away in the distance, kids screaming in the yard below, and the dull bang of snow falling off the roof.The room is the smallest of all, belonging to Luca--just room to fit in one bed and one desk that Julian had dragged up the four flights of stairs. The boy had already made it his command center: two monitors, three external drives, cables that have been carefully tied with twist ties. There was one pushpin that was stuck on the wall above the desk as he had pinned the silver bell.Julian gave a knock, then forced open the door.Luca did not raise his eyes on his screen. "It'
The Apartment
The apartment was freshly smelling of coffee and ink.By seven-thirty, Julian had entered the kitchen, where a laptop with threenews tabs flashing on the screen was already in place, with Julian walking into the kitchen and found a fully occupied Lucas at the kitchen table.He didn't look up. "It's everywhere."Julian made two cups of coffee and handed one of them to the boy. "Read me the headlines."Luca scrolled slowly.Der Spiegel: "Millions of Suspicious Transfers Tied to Vienna Financier - Documents Indicate Political Connections,".He clicked again.Europe "Le Monde: 'EU Commissioner Named in Leaked Files - Calls for Immediate Investigation.'Another tab.The Guardian: The Hale Network Exposed: How a Dark Web of Money Trail Leads to the Core of European Power.Julian was leaning against the counter holding his mug. "They're moving fast."Luca nodded. The hashes were already cross-verified by the ICIJ.
Lisbon
The initial titles were like the waves of a thunder--heard before heard.On the Lisbon rental house Jules had wakened up early in the morning, the sort of place with terra-cotta tiles and the Tagus River glittering in the morning sun. He made his way to the kitchen, brewed a cup of coffee, opened his computer on the scratched wooden table.The display was full of notifications.Luca turned up in the door a few minutes later, still wearing pajamas and with sticking hair. "It's starting."Lila had come with them and wrapped a robe around her. "Show us."Luca dragged up the tabs which he had bookmarked the night before.First: Portuguese daily, front page online: Hale Papers' Rock European Finance - Millions in Secret Money Revealed.The article also used anonymous sources, described the initial arrests: two low-level bankers in Vienna, who were dragged out at dawn and questioned on money laundering charges.Julian scrolled. "They
The Second Wave
The apartment balcony at Lisbon commanded a small street with jacaranda in it, its purple flowers already falling like confetti down to the cobblestones. Now it was late in the month of February--unusual enough to have open windows, and yet cool enough so that the evenings remained tinged with a sting.Julian was sitting at the little iron table, scrolling the most recent alerts. Lila was in the house humming as she cut vegetables to make dinner. Luca was lying on the couch, dangling his legs over the armrest, his laptop in his hands.The boy talked first, accidentally but incisively. which was the Liechtenstein shell.Julian looked up. "Details?"Luca swiveled the screen about towards the open door of the balcony. "Morning raid. German and Swiss politicians. Confiscated servers, hard copy, the works. The Hale Papers, they say, furnished them with the very co-ordinates--account numbers, date of registration, even that lawyer who signed the incorporation p
Silence, The Best Balance Sheet
The Lagos house was unlike the Lisbon house.It was smaller, older and behind a high wall in Ikoyi. Bougainvillea was extravagantly set on the gate with its bloody pinks and purples. It was acrid with diesel, damp clay following the rain and the slight sweetness of frying plantain of the street seller two corners away.Three weeks ago they had come--no trumpet-tongue, no advertisement. Nothing more than a silent flight out of Lisbon, new names on the passports, and a cash lease.Luca had usurped the back room that had the mango tree view. On the first day he would set up his desk and then he would put the silver bell above his desk and then he would be monitoring the fallout as though it was a living being.Julian and Lila occupied the front bedroom. The bed creaked. The ceiling fan rattled. Neither of them minded.To-night there was no power on--NEPA once again--and they sat on the veranda under a solar lantern. Cicadas sang in the dark. Somewhere
Lagos
The heat of Lagos had got into a fixed beat at the beginning of April--sticky, damp mornings that fried into lazy afternoons. The mango tree of the courtyard fell dead with spongy thuds on the tin roof, and Luca woke up before the call to prayer swept through the area.He sat at his desk, and the silver bell in the breeze of the fan gleamed in his eyes, and he was looking at one open tab.The headline was simple:Viktor Hale Jr. Dead in Maldives - Suicide.Under it, the article was short--official statement of local authorities, foul play not to be suspected, body found on a private yacht. In one of the photos, the same yacht as in the taunting video was surrounded by yellow tape marking it off.Luca made no immediate movement.At dawn Julian found him there with his coffee mug in hand.He read the screen above the shoulder of the boy.Neither spoke at first.You all right? said Julian, in his low voice.Luca clos
The Courtyard
It was the end of the mango-tree in the courtyard. The tree tops now appeared in the nakedness of nearly pregnant expectation, anticipating the arrival of rains, and the persuasion of new leaves.Luca was sitting under it with a plastic chair, silver bell in his left hand and the phone on his right. The screen was displaying a silent news feed one no breaking news alerts, no new arrests, just follow-up articles in the interior pages.He scrolled slowly.Julian emerged with two glasses of cold zobo the condensation already streaming down the sides. He gave one to Luca, and himself took the vacant seat next him.“Anything?” Julian asked.Luca shook his head. “Quiet. The property belonging to Hale Junior is not yet liquidated. The EU new register was launched last month- more than two hundred thousand trusts reported in the first week alone. A few small fines. Nothing big.”Julian took a long sip. The zobo was bitter, sw
The Visitor
The gate bell went off at 7:14 p. m.No, not the typical idleness of the kid next-door soliciting to charge recharge cards. Also it was intentional, two brief taps, one longer, as though one were well aware of the beat of the house.Luca stood still with a fork in his mouth hanging. Lila lowered her glass. Julian was already on his feet--silently, smoothly as before, the manner in which he had always done at the call of the past.He unleashed the little side window next to the gate, and held his body at right angles. A man stood outside. Mid-forties. Gray linen shirt. No jacket though the evening cold. Hands visible, empty. A messenger bag, made of leather, slender, on one shoulder.Julian talked behind the bars. "Who are you?"The man stared in his face-- composed, nearly smiling. "My name is Adebayo Cole. I used to work for the ICIJ. I am now employed by... people who are not indifferent as to the truth.Julian didn't blink. "We're not receiving visitors."I did not come to
Leaving Lagos
The morning was puffy-looking--great drops of rain beating impatiently against the tin roof. They had half packed everything out of the house already: the suit cases were zip-zipped, the boxes were taped, the mango sapling was neatly potted and wrapped in burlap to travel.Luca was in the court and the drizzle was rolling over the eaves onto his shoulders. He gave a parting glance to the little tree--it was still small--and turned to Julian.But I know it would not move, would it?Julian waited on the pot-side, and examined the ground. "It's tougher than it looks. Like us."Lila came into the door with the raincoat on and three umbrellas in her hand. "Car's outside. Driver's waiting. Forty minutes to make the airport.Luca nodded once. He approached the tree and stroked one of the leaves. "Grow strong," he whispered. "We'll be back."They didn't linger.It was a slow approach to Murtala
The Vault beneath the Heather
Late in March the Scottish Highlands were rough--cutting wind in wool, gray sky resembling wet slate, heather still brown and anticipating spring. The former Ardmore estate--what remained of it--was on a windy ridge above Loch Maree. No gates. No signs. Nothing but one track road that led to gravel and quietness.In Inverness they had rented a Land Rover. No driver. No questions.Julian drove. Lila sat gun, map in her lap although the GPS was functional. Luca behind, the silver bell in his hand, the photo of Sofia in his other hand.The last five miles were bad--potholes, sheep who would not pass, mist so dense that the Headlights made little more than ten meters progress.As the ruins came into sight they were smaller than memory. Roofless walls. Windows like empty sockets. The wing to the east, in which the piano had smouldered, was largely in ruins, and brac