Chapter 3 - The Trap at Dawn
By 5:00 a.m., the boardroom on the forty-fifth floor had been transformed into an operational command center.
The city outside was just beginning to stir, a pale grey mist rolling off the East River against the Manhattan skyline. Frank stood by the double doors, while two of Gideon’s veteran security enforcers waited quietly in the shadows.
At 8:30 a.m., Viktor Lane walked into the executive suite.
He wore an expensive navy pinstripe suit, his silver-rimmed glasses catching the morning light, a confident, self-satisfied smirk plastered across his face. He walked past my desk as if nothing were amiss, giving me a cold, knowing nod.
"Tessa, darling," Viktor purred, tossing a manila folder onto my desk. "Get these shipping authorizations signed by Gideon before the morning market opens. And make sure my coffee is hot this time."
He turned the handle of the boardroom door and walked inside.
I didn't flinch. I picked up the folder, stood up, and followed him right into the boardroom.
Gideon sat at the head of the massive glass conference table. He was reading a physical copy of the Wall Street Journal, a cup of black coffee steaming beside his right hand. He didn't look up when Viktor entered.
Viktor’s smirk faltered slightly as he noticed the absence of administrative buzz, replaced by an unnerving, heavy silence.
"Gideon," Viktor said, forcing a casual tone. "Early morning. I thought you'd be halfway to Europe by now for the Swiss energy summit."
Gideon slowly folded the newspaper, set it on the glass table, and clasped his hands together.
"The Swiss summit can wait, Viktor," Gideon said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "We have an internal audit to conduct."
Viktor’s eyes darted toward the corner where the two enforcers stood. The color drained from his face, but he tried to maintain his corporate armor. "Audit? What are you talking about? My department's numbers are pristine."
Gideon reached into his coat pocket and slid the black leather ledger across the glass table. It stopped right at Viktor’s fingertips.
May you like
Viktor froze. The breath caught in his throat.
"Pristine," Gideon repeated softly. "Just like the bruises on my secretary’s wrist."
