Chapter 6 - Whispers in the Quarter
Life in New Orleans has a way of lulling people into a false sense of security just before the storm hits.
By late November, the humidity had broken, replaced by crisp autumn breezes that swept through the French Quarter and rustled the dead leaves in the Ashford gardens. Leo was back in private school, escorted by two plainclothes security guards, though he still insisted that Audrey be the one to pick him up every afternoon.
Dorian’s empire was running smoother than ever. Julian Vance’s trial was scheduled for the spring, and federal prosecutors were confident of a life sentence without parole.
Yet, beneath the surface of the city, old ghosts were stirring.
It started with a small detail that Marcus brought to Dorian’s attention during a late-night meeting in the underground study.
“Boss,” Marcus said, placing a surveillance photograph on the mahogany desk. “We tracked down Julian’s offshore accounts. The millions he embezzled didn't just disappear into shell companies in the Caymans. They were being funneled somewhere else.”
Dorian leaned over the desk, his eyes narrowing as he studied the bank routing numbers. “Where?”
“A private syndicate operating out of the Ninth Ward,” Marcus replied grimly. “Led by a man named Viktor Petrov. An old Russian arms dealer who has been trying to muscle into New Orleans shipping routes for over a decade. Julian wasn't just stealing from you for himself, Dorian. He was paying protection money to Petrov.”
Dorian’s jaw clenched so hard a muscle twitched in his cheek. “Petrov is supposed to be locked up in a federal penitentiary in Montana.”
“He was,” Marcus said. “He escaped three months ago. And according to our intelligence, he’s been using Julian to acquire Ashford shipping manifests so he can smuggle contraband through our docks.”
Audrey, who had walked into the study to drop off evening tea reports, froze by the door. The cup in her hand trembled slightly.
“Petrov,” she whispered, the name tasting like poison.
Dorian snapped his head up, his dark eyes locking onto hers. “You know that name?”
Audrey set the tray down on a side table, her face draining of color. “My father... before he died... he was an accountant for the port authority. He discovered that someone was altering customs records to let illegal cargo through the river terminals. He tried to blow the whistle.”
She paused, swallowing hard as the painful memories rushed back.
“And?” Dorian prompted, standing up from his desk and walking over to her.
“And his car brakes failed on the bridge three weeks later,” Audrey said, her voice shaking. “The police called it an accident. But my father always said Viktor Petrov owned half the politicians and judges in Louisiana.”
Dorian’s expression hardened into pure, glacial ice. He reached out, placing both hands gently on Audrey’s shoulders.
“Your father’s death wasn't an accident, Audrey,” Dorian said, his voice deep and absolute. “And neither was Julian’s attempt to get rid of Leo. It’s all connected. Petrov is trying to tear my empire down to rebuild his own. And he thinks he can use my family to do it.”
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“What are we going to do?” Audrey asked, looking up into his fierce, unyielding eyes.
“We aren't going to wait for him to make the next move,” Dorian said. “We’re going to hunt him down in his own yard.”
