Chapter 6 - The Execution of the DebtThe heavy mahogany double doors of the second-floor study didn't just open—they were kicked inward with a single, brutal blow from Marco's heavy combat boot.
Gable raised his weapon to fire, but Marco moved with surgical speed.
THWIP!
A single suppressed round struck Gable's shoulder, sending him spinning backward into the floor-to-ceiling bookshelf, his pistol clattering uselessly across the Persian rug.
I walked into the study slowly.
I wore my heavy black wool coat against the cold, my dark suit spotless, my six-foot-two frame cutting a terrifying, sovereign shadow across the grand room. In my right hand, I held the silver flash drive Enzo had given me. In my left hand, I carried a single sheet of paper—the certified probate transfer deed drafted thirty minutes ago by my lead corporate counsel.
Victor Vance backed away from his desk until his spine hit the heavy glass window overlooking his snow-swept estate. He looked at me—at my cold slate-gray eyes, my unshakeable composure, and the quiet, absolute death standing in the room—and let out a pathetic, whimpering sob.
"Luca... please..." Vance begged, his hands raised in a wild, groveling gesture. "We can talk about this! We can share the logistics equity! I'll transfer twenty percent of the Vance trust to the girl right now! I'll give her full voting rights!"
I walked up to the desk, stopping two feet from him.
I set the silver flash drive flat on the mahogany wood beside his spilled bourbon.
"You don't own twenty percent anymore, Victor," I stated, my baritone smooth, quiet, and dropped like an iron hammer. "As of four o'clock this morning, the Federal Bureau of Investigation and the IRS Financial Crimes Division executed twenty-four search warrants across your cold-storage facilities in Cicero."
Vance's jaw dropped open in absolute, horror-stricken shock.
"The evidence files detailing your fourteen years of tax evasion, human trafficking, and corporate fraud were uploaded directly to the U.S. Attorney's portal," I continued, pointing at the paper deed on the table. "Under federal civil forfeiture law, your corporate assets have been seized. And under the secondary beneficiary clause of the Bennett trust... the domestic logistics proxies have been permanently transferred to Elena Vasquez."
Vance stumbled back against the glass, his face contorted in a mask of pure, unadulterated ruin. "You... you destroyed my entire life's work in three hours?!"
"You tried to kill my child, Victor," I murmured, leaning down until my eyes were inches from his sweating, pale forehead. "You should be grateful I'm letting the federal marshals take you out of this house instead of putting you under the ice in Lake Michigan."
The loud, roaring blare of federal law enforcement sirens echoed down the long driveway outside the mansion windows. Red and blue tactical lights strobed through the falling snow, painting the study walls in brilliant crimson and sapphire armor.
Four uniformed federal marshals stepped into the study, placing heavy steel handcuffs around Vance's manicured wrists, dragging his crying, pleading body out through the broken doors toward a waiting transport sedan.
May you like
I smoothed down my lapels, picked up the signed probate transfer deed, and turned toward the window, looking out at the cold Chicago morning breaking over the horizon.
The war was over. The debt was paid.
