Chapter 5 - Blood and IronBack on the forty-third floor, the tension in the boardroom was palpable.
Vance stood bleeding against the glass, breathing heavily, while Rhett stood motionless, processing the avalanche of deceit.
“You think you built this empire alone, Rhett?” Vance sneered, blood dripping onto his silk tie. “I made the deals with the Castellanos while you were playing protector to a spy! I secured our future! And if you don't clean up this mess with Isla, I’ll hand the entire federal indictment over to the DOJ myself!”
The elevator bell chimed down the hall.
Heavy footfalls approached the double doors. Before Rhett could answer his brother, the doors pushed open.
Marcus walked in, flanked by four armed security guards. And between them stood Julian Voss—bruised, handcuffed, and terrified.
Julian stumbled forward, shoved onto his knees beside the shattered coffee cup.
“Rhett... please,” Julian sobbed, looking up at the most feared man in Chicago with terror in his eyes. “I didn't mean to hurt her! It was Vance! Vance told me to take the ledger and make her disappear!”
Vance’s face turned chalk white. “You miserable piece of trash—shut your mouth—”
Rhett slowly walked over to the mahogany desk. He didn't look at Julian. He didn't look at Vance.
He opened a velvet-lined drawer and pulled out a heavy, suppressed automatic pistol—the same weapon he had carried during the bloodiest years of his rise to power. He checked the magazine with a mechanical click, the sound echoing loudly in the silent room.
“Rhett,” Vance stammered, stepping back, all his corporate bravado completely evaporated. “Rhett, we’re brothers. You can't... we share blood—”
“The day you laid a hand on Isla was the day you stopped being my brother,” Rhett said, his voice devoid of any human warmth.
He didn't fire. Instead, he tossed the weapon onto the table in front of Marcus.
“Marcus,” Rhett said coldly. “Take Julian to the North Side docks. Ship him to a non-extradition country with nothing on his back except the clothes he’s wearing. If he ever sets foot in Illinois again, feed him to the river.”
“And Vance, sir?” Marcus asked.
Rhett looked at Vance, who was shaking violently against the glass.
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“Strip him of every share, every title, every asset, and every cent to his name. Blacklist him from every financial institution in North America. Turn him into a ghost. Let him walk the streets of Chicago with nothing, the same way I started.”
Vance collapsed onto his knees, weeping hysterically as security dragged him out of the room, his expensive suit dragging through the spilled coffee.
