Chapter 4 - The Confrontation
The illusion of polite corporate loyalty evaporated in a fraction of a second.
Julian Vance’s smile vanished. His hand slipped instantly beneath the lapel of his tailored wool jacket, reaching for a concealed shoulder holster.
He was fast.
Killian was faster.
Before Julian’s fingers could clear the leather, a heavy brass poker from the fireplace hearth flashed through the air with terrifying speed, striking Julian’s wrist with a sickening crack. Julian screamed, stumbling backward against the mahogany console table, shattering a crystal bowl of pinecones.
Instantly, the heavy oak doors of the foyer burst open. Four of Ashcroft’s private security enforcers rushed in, weapons drawn, pinning Julian face-down against the Persian rug before he could draw a breath.
"Don't move," one enforcer growled, pressing a knee firmly into Julian's spine.
I pushed the study door open fully and stepped out into the foyer, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Killian stood over Julian, his face dark with suppressed fury. He didn't yell. His voice was terrifyingly calm.
"Ten years, Julian," Killian said, looking down at his chief of operations as if he were looking at a cockroach. "Ten years I trusted you with the logistics, the ports, the books. And you sold our shipping manifests to the federal task force just so you could force a buyout of the north terminal."
"You're... you're making a mistake, Killian," Julian choked out against the floorboards, blood trickling from his split lip. "The federal agents... they promised me immunity! They’re coming for you anyway! The whole empire is collapsing!"
"The empire isn't collapsing," Killian replied coldly. He turned his head and locked eyes with me standing by the study door. "Because my housekeeper has a better memory than my executive staff."
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Julian twisted his head around, glaring at me with venomous hatred. "You! You stupid little maid! If you had just stayed at the diner, or if those thugs had finished the job last night—"
"That’s enough," Killian snapped, signaling the guards. "Drag him down to the lower freight elevator. Hold him there until the federal marshal I actually trust arrives to take his statement."
