Chapter 3 - The Gathering Storm
Downstairs in the subterranean parking garage of the Ashworth Grand, the atmosphere was freezing in more ways than one.
Julian Vance stood beside his silver European sports car, pacing back and forth like a caged animal, while his younger brother, Marcus, leaned against the passenger door smoking a cigarette with trembling fingers.
"What do you mean, he took her upstairs?" Marcus demanded, his voice echoing off the concrete pillars. "Are you out of your mind, Julian? Cordelia went completely psychotic in the lobby, and now Damien Cross is personally babysitting the waitress she assaulted? Do you know what Cross does to people who cross him?"
"I know!" Julian hissed, grabbing his hair in sheer panic. "I’ve been trying to get a meeting with him for six months to pitch our new container shipping port expansion! If Cross decides our family is a liability, our stock will plummet by ten percent before the opening bell tomorrow morning! Father is going to skin us alive!"
"Where is Cordelia?" Marcus asked, looking around the dim garage.
"Inside the car, crying because Cross's security detail told her she wasn't allowed to leave the premises until the boss cleared her departure," Julian groaned. "She’s throwing a tantrum, screaming about her social standing, completely oblivious to the fact that we are standing on the edge of a financial precipice."
The heavy steel doors at the end of the parking ramp hissed open, breaking their panicked exchange.
Out stepped Reeves, Damien’s veteran head of security, flanked by two armed enforcers in tailored suits. Reeves walked with the slow, measured stride of a man who owned the pavement he stepped on.
Julian and Marcus immediately straightened up, pasting desperate, ingratiating smiles onto their faces as Reeves approached.
"Mr. Vance," Reeves greeted, his voice flat and devoid of warmth.
"Reeves! Good man," Julian babbled, stepping forward with his hand extended. "Listen, I want to apologize on behalf of our family. Cordelia had a stressful day, she didn't realize who the employee was, it was all a dreadful misunderstanding—"
Reeves ignored the outstretched hand entirely. He pulled a thick manila folder from under his arm and tossed it onto the hood of Julian’s sports car with a sharp slap.
Julian swallowed hard, slowly withdrawing his hand. "What... what is this?"
"An audit," Reeves said calmly. "Compiled over the last forty-eight hours by Mr. Cross’s financial intelligence division. It details every single shell company, offshore tax evasion account, and falsified customs manifest currently tied to Vance Global Logistics."
Marcus’s cigarette dropped from his fingers, hitting the concrete and rolling into the shadows. "That... that’s impossible. Those files are encrypted. They’re locked behind triple-redundant servers—"
"Mr. Cross owns the telecommunications backbone this city runs on," Reeves interrupted dryly. "Nothing in this town is encrypted from him unless he allows it to be."
Julian opened the folder with shaking fingers. The first page displayed a detailed breakdown of illegal arms smuggling routes operating out of the municipal docks under the cover of the Vance family's import-export license — documents that could send half the Vance board of directors to federal prison for the rest of their natural lives.
"Why are you showing us this?" Julian whispered, horror dawning in his eyes.
May you like
"Because Mr. Cross wants you to understand something," Reeves said, leaning in close so only the two brothers could hear. "When someone hurts a guest in his hotel, it’s a misdemeanor. When someone hurts the woman who saved his life seven years ago... it’s an act of war."
Reeves turned on his heel and walked back toward the elevator, leaving the two brothers standing in the freezing garage with a ticking time bomb in their hands.
