Chapter 4 - The Underground AllianceThe rain had turned into a torrential downpour by the time I reached downtown Greenwich, my designer shoes soaked through, my hair matted against my forehead.
I ducked into a dim, smoke-stained tavern two blocks away from the federal courthouse—the kind of place corporate raiders and high-society executives never visited unless they were hiding from process servers or looking to hire someone whose moral compass pointed strictly south.
I slid onto a sticky vinyl booth in the corner, signaling the bartender with a two-hundred-dollar bill I had managed to pull from my secret emergency wallet compartment before Marcus froze my accounts.
"Double bourbon, neat," I ordered, my voice raspy from the cold.
The bartender eyed the crisp two-hundred-dollar bill, nodded silently, and slid a heavy glass of amber liquid across the scratched mahogany table.
I downed half of it in one burn, letting the alcohol sear my throat and numb the heavy, hollow ache in my chest.
"Looking a little rough around the edges for a man of your pedigree, Sterling," a smooth, gravelly voice remarked from the shadows of the adjoining booth.
I snapped my head around.
Sliding out of the dark booth and sitting down uninvited across from me was Victor Vance—no relation to the court receiver, but a man far more dangerous. Victor was a disgraced former senior partner at Sterling Global's primary rival firm, a corporate shark who had been disbarred two years ago for insider trading and corporate espionage before managing to beat the federal indictments on a technicality.
"Victor," I muttered, narrowing my eyes. "What are you doing here?"
Victor chuckled, taking a slow sip of his gin and tonic. "Let's just say I have friends inside the Greenwich courthouse, Julian. Word travels fast when one of the city's golden boys gets his empire dismantled in under twelve hours by a sweet-faced stay-at-home mother."
My blood boiled. "Watch your mouth, Victor."
"Relax," Victor grinned, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the sticky table. "I'm not here to mock you. I'm here to offer you a lifeline. Because right now, you're drowning in deep, freezing water, and the only person who can throw you a rope is sitting right across from you."
I stared at him suspiciously. "What do you want? I don't have money to retain your services."
"I don't want your money, Julian. I want your revenge," Victor whispered, his eyes flashing with a cold, predatory gleam. "Your wife didn't just beat you legally—she humiliated you in front of the entire board, stripped your voting shares, and handed your multi-million-dollar portfolio over to a blind trust controlled by her father's estate. If you want your company back... if you want to see your son again... you need to play dirty. And my friends know things about Elena's family background that your high-priced corporate attorneys were too blind to uncover."
I gripped my bourbon glass tightly, my knuckles turning white.
"What kind of things?" I asked, my voice dropping into a dangerous whisper.
May you like
Victor smiled—a thin, shark-like grin that promised utter destruction.
"Let's just say," Victor murmured, sliding a thick manila envelope across the table, "your sweet, innocent wife comes from a family with a very dark, very profitable skeleton buried deep in the financial district—and if we play our cards right, we can use it to blow her entire custody case right out of the water."
