Chapter 3 - The Cellar ConfessionBy 3:15 a.m., the heavy iron door of the basement wine cellar clicked open. Two of Marco’s operatives hauled Julian inside, shoving him roughly into a wooden Windsor chair positioned in the center of the room.
Julian’s hair was disheveled, his expensive silk pajamas wrinkled from being yanked out of bed. His eyes darted wildly around the dimly lit stone chamber, landing finally on me. I sat across from him at the tasting table, a thick Manila folder resting open under the warm glow of an overhead lamp.
“Roman? What the hell is the meaning of this?!” Julian protested, his voice cracking with feigned outrage as he struggled against the zip-ties binding his wrists to the chair arms. “Are you out of your mind? Your thugs broke into my apartment!”
I didn't move. I slowly picked up a heavy silver letter opener, turning it over in my fingers, letting the silence stretch until the ambient hum of the wine coolers sounded like a distant thunderstorm.
“Julian,” I said softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “Do you remember what happened to Viktor Vance’s chief financial officer when he tried to skim from the docks three years ago?”
Julian swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing violently. “That... that was different. That was business.”
“Everything is business,” I replied, sliding the clinic intake form across the mahogany table until it stopped right under his nose. “Explain this.”
Julian glanced down at the paper. The color drained from his face instantly, leaving him looking chalk-white under the cellar lights. His lips parted, but no sound came out.
“You told her I hated her,” I continued, standing up slowly from my chair and walking around the table until I stood directly behind him. I leaned down, my mouth near his ear. “You told her I had remarried. You took her emergency call, took my name, and turned it into a weapon to starve her.”
“She... she was a distraction!” Julian suddenly snapped, his panic giving way to desperate, snarling defiance as he twisted in his seat. “She was holding you back, Roman! You were going soft! Ever since you married her, you started pulling punches in the district acquisitions! I did what needed to be done to keep the family safe—to keep us on top!”
Smack.
The back of my hand caught him across the jaw with enough force to snap his head violently to the side, splitting his lip and sending a spray of crimson across the collar of his silk shirt. He slumped sideways, groaning.
“Family?” I hissed, grabbing him by the collar and jerking him upright. “You starved my wife. You endangered my child. You don't know the first damn thing about family.”
“You... you can’t touch me,” Julian wheezed, wiping blood from his chin, a hysterical edge creeping into his voice. “I’m a corporate officer! If I go down, I take the board down with me! The federal auditors already have—ugh!”
I tightened my grip, cutting off his air supply for three agonizing seconds before releasing him. He collapsed forward, coughing violently.
“Federal auditors don't have what I have,” I said, tossing the second file onto the table—the complete audit of his embezzlement ring and his secret communications with my corporate rivals. “You’re not going to federal prison, Julian. Not yet. Because first, you’re going to sign over every single share of stock, every trust fund, and every asset you own to a newly established trust bearing Claire’s and my child’s name.”
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Julian stared at me in horror. “That... that leaves me with nothing. I’ll be bankrupt! I’ll be ruined!”
“You’ll be breathing,” I corrected coldly, motioning to Marco in the doorway. “And that’s a luxury you don't deserve.”
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