Chapter 3 - The Audit of GrayhavenBy 8:00 AM the following morning, the storm over the Chesapeake Bay had cleared, leaving a crisp, brilliant golden sunrise reflecting off the water.
Grayhaven House was under complete military-grade lockdown. Thirty private Vance operatives guarded the gates, while federal agents from the Department of Justice and the DEA processed the evidence seized from Victor Volkov’s private offices in downtown Baltimore.
In the master suite, the heavy smoke was gone, replaced by the clean scent of ocean air and fresh lilies. Damian lay in his bed, propped up on plush pillows, connected to an advanced medical detox drip supervised by Dr. Rebecca Hayes—the top toxicologist in the Mid-Atlantic region.
Dr. Hayes stepped back from the IV monitor, turning to face Damian, Marcus Vance, and me.
"The thallium has been completely identified," Dr. Hayes reported, her voice filled with professional relief. "Because Lila caught it before the final lethal dose was administered last night, we were able to begin aggressive chelation therapy in time. The neurological damage is reversible. Within four weeks, Mr. Volkov, your physical strength will be fully restored."
Damian took a deep, clear breath, his color already returning to his hollow cheeks. "Thank you, Rebecca."
Marcus Vance stepped forward, opening a thick leather binder bound by red seals.
"Don Damian," Marcus reported, his tone dropping into a sharp, clinical register. "We completed the forensic audit of Victor's personal and shell accounts. For two years, Victor has been systematically embezzling from your commercial shipping trusts—over eighty million dollars funneled into private accounts in Panama and the Cayman Islands."
"And the board?" Damian asked, his low baritone regaining its deep, resonant authority.
"Victor had scheduled an emergency board meeting for three o'clock this afternoon," Marcus revealed. "He intended to present a forged medical power of attorney, declare you permanently incapacitated, and assume absolute voting control over Volkov Global Logistics."
Damian’s dark eyes narrowed into razor-sharp, lethal slits.
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He looked over at the corner of the room, where four-year-old Lila was sitting on a plush velvet rug, happily coloring in a drawing book with bright purple crayons while wearing her favorite headphones that played gentle vibrational tones.
"Marcus," Damian commanded flatly, stepping out of the bed under his own power for the first time in six weeks, his tall six-foot-four frame towering over the room with an unshakeable, sovereign authority. "Prepare my charcoal suit. We are going to attend my brother's board meeting."
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