Veverka - The Gilded Sanctum

THE GILDED SANCTUM

Keith Veverka

Copyright 2019 Keith Veverka

All rights reserved.

FOR TRACI

Prologue

Washington, D.C.

Present Day

Ryan Walker glanced one final time at the photograph on his smartphone as he entered the local mini-mart and heard the cowbell clang behind him. He busied himself at an aisle end cap displaying individually wrapped pastries and feigned interest in the nutritional information while watching a haggard man approach the counter. This man had attempted to run, attempted to hide, and attempted to escape from the inevitable, but now that Walker had found him, death was certain to follow.

Edward Collins. Accountant. Formerly of Hellerman & Associates in downtown D.C., one of the more prominent accounting firms on the East Coast. The photo on Walkers phone was a standard portrait from H&A similar to any youd find in the corporate world with the subject neatly dressed in a suit and tie against a light blue background. With his perfectly sculpted hair and a matching smile, Collins appeared to be a rising star.

The early middle-aged man was now a shadow of his former self. He was disheveled, his blonde hair tousled, and he moved at an awkward pace as he peeked around nervously like his head was on a swivel. The smile from the photo was gone, replaced by a sour tension that wrinkled his freshly-worn face. He wore expensive shoes and a fancy wool coat a status symbol from another time but inappropriate for the beautiful summer day, almost as if he was trying to disappear inside the oversized jacket. But there was no escaping from this. Collins had made a terrible mistake, and Walker was here to deliver the sentence.

Because of the warm coat and the weighty burden of fear, sweat cascaded from Collins forehead, forcing him to push his wire-rim glasses back up onto his face, while struggling to carry the grocery bag in his arms as he exited the store and returned to his temporary home across the street. The dilapidated motel built in the shape of a U around its parking lot hadnt been cared for in years, and the weeds growing out of the parking lots broken asphalt formed a root structure that snaked its way along the cracked and worn streets of this northern D.C. neighborhood. Urban renewal had yet to find its way to this section of the city, and it clearly wasnt a place for designer shoes. Collins obviously didnt belong here.

It was indeed a long way from his upscale condominium in Tysons Corner, but once Collins came to the conclusion that his lies had been discovered and his life was in danger, this was his only choice. With one last nervous glance, he quickly opened the burnt orange-colored door and hurried into the motel room. Walker stared at the aging building from the opposite sidewalk, picturing the frightened man immediately dead-bolting the flimsy door, believing he was somewhat protected from the evils of the outside world, safe in his temporary sanctuary. Nothing could be further from the truth.

Collins had succumbed to a typical human weakness and made the grave mistake of trading time for money. Many had done it before him with surprisingly similar results. Collins had forgotten that time was the one priceless commodity none of us could do without. He was blinded by a short-term investment, intrigued by the possibility of unimaginable wealth, but as people never quite seemed to understand in that moment of weakness, he wouldnt be taking his money with him.

Edward Collins had been a very good accountant, had worked for one of the most prestigious accounting firms in the country, and had enjoyed the opulent social class it provided. He gave everything to his company in those early years, working the insane hours required for a young executive to climb the corporate ladder, stepping off on the thirtieth floor into a corner office. Life had been good. For a time. When the Great Recession hit and the economy tanked, his firm made cutbacks, and he was one of them.

However, Collins still had a family to care for, a wife accustomed to an affluent lifestyle. No one was hiring while the economy slowly recovered, so he entered into the employment of a very unsavory character: Lorenzo Arcuri. But Collins should have known better. Years earlier, his younger brother had worked for Arcuri as well, and after one of those jobs went bad, the younger Collins had been fished out of the Potomac with his throat slashed. Never able to hold down a steady job and in and out of Virginias state prison system, Collinss brother had learned the hard way the downside of working for a criminal, especially one as relentless as Arcuri.

Lorenzo Arcuri was the head of an organized crime family, tethered in Washington D.C., but with tentacles throughout the country. By any standard, not just criminal, Arcuri was ruthless and cunning the latest in a long line of such leaders for this family, a vast extension of the Italian mafia. Known for his bold moves against his enemies and even bolder taunts against law enforcement, he was a force to be reckoned with. His criminal activities touched on so many industries, it was difficult to keep track even for the FBI and his business interests were as diversified as any legitimate or criminal enterprise could hope to be.

Therefore, Arcuri needed accountants who could track, bury, and clean all of the money which flowed from his criminal empire into his legal front businesses. The lines had always been blurred, and so a skilled mathematician was very useful at making the operations look legit and keeping law enforcement at arms length. Collins was well paid for his services, and in a short time was making more money than he had ever imagined, but he had also lost his perspective, forgotten about his dead brother, and gotten greedy.

Impressed by the grotesque amount of money being laundered by his own hand, he felt as though he rightly deserved a piece of it, and so he started to skim a little off the top for himself. With each transaction, a little more went into his pocket, and because he was good at what he did, the ruse lasted much longer than he expected. Although the amounts were insignificant to the overall haul being funneled into the Arcuri family fortune, it was still stealing. And in the eyes of Lorenzo Arcuri, stealing was unforgivable. No one made a selfish decision like that in Arcuris empire.

So now, Edward Collins was on a list; a list from which you were only removed when you were dead. Most of the people on the list knew they were targets knew they had made a mistake so attempted all the usual methods of escape. But the family never forgets, and Arcuri hired Walker to track down these traitors and check them off the list.

Walker considered the grim nature of his work as he lumbered into his unwashed car parked on the street and threw his cell phone on the passenger seat. He glanced in the rearview mirror and the reflection of three-day-old stubble that covered his solidly framed cheeks and chin and his lengthening brown hair was much different than the close-cropped, clean-shaven look of his former life. His gray-colored eyes were sunken and bloodshot, and his lips were chapped. He hadnt slept well last night. Never slept well.

Walker knew that because he was the one who located these people, he was complicit in the judgment that had been issued. Were these people guilty? Perhaps. Did it matter? No. His only task was to find them. Thankfully, Walker didnt do the actual killing; he was not the executioner. But once a target had been found and the call had been made, the sentence was officially handed down. So in essence, he did kill them, just from a distance.

There was some relief in that not all of his assignments were like this; he didnt only work for Arcuri. Walkers other clients were mostly criminals, too, but Arcuri usually paid the most. It seemed like the personal cost of each case was commensurate with the salary, each successive job tearing away another piece of his soul. Following a cheating spouse or tracking down a runaway child was standard fare until Arcuri offered him the chance to be the hunter.