Chapter 3 - The Audit of the Forty-Seventh FloorBy 11:30 P.M., the armored SUV had navigated through the blizzard to a high-security subterranean garage beneath a private, unmarked estate in Upper Bedford, New York.
This was Maxwell Bennett’s true sanctuary—a fortified compound guarded by forty elite, highly trained private operators who answered exclusively to him, completely separate from Bennett Holdings' corporate security.
Inside the compound's sweeping, heated study, a fire crackled in a grand stone fireplace. Lily sat wrapped in a warm blanket on a plush leather sofa, sipping hot chocolate provided by an elderly housekeeper, while private doctors checked her for frostbite.
Across the room, standing around a massive mahogany desk, were Maxwell Bennett, senior corporate legal auditor Bridget Colton, and Marcus Vance’s former deputy, Gabriel, who had remained loyal to Maxwell.
Bridget Colton opened a heavy leather binder, sliding high-definition digital ledgers and wiretap transcripts flat onto the desk toward Maxwell and me:
"Maxwell," Bridget spoke smoothly, her sharp blue eyes holding profound, surgical satisfaction. "The digital forensic audit of Marcus Vance's private accounts over the last forty-eight hours is complete."
Maxwell leaned over the desk, his hands planted flat on the wood, his face carved from granite. "What did he steal, Bridget?"
Bridget tapped the ledgers with a pen:
THE MARSEILLE CARTEL DEALS: Encrypted financial logs proving Marcus Vance accepted $45 million from an international maritime syndicate to orchestrate Maxwell Bennett’s assassination.
THE BOMB CONTRACT: Intercepted procurement logs showing Marcus hired a specialized European mercenary cell to rig Maxwell’s primary executive transport for Thursday at 7:15 A.M.
THE CORPORATE TAKEOVER: Certified forged proxy documents that would have transferred fifty-one percent controlling equity in Bennett Holdings directly to Marcus Vance upon Maxwell’s death.
A low, terrifying growl echoed from Maxwell’s chest. The air in the study dropped to absolute zero.
"He sat at my table for twelve years," Maxwell whispered, his gray eyes burning with an apocalyptic, lethal rage. "I raised his children. I funded his firm."
He turned slowly to look at me and Lily.
"And he tried to murder a mother and her ten-year-old child in an alleyway to cover his tracks."
I stepped forward, my hands clenching into tight fists at my sides. "What happens on Thursday at seven-fifteen, Mr. Bennett?"
May you like
Maxwell walked over to where Lily sat on the sofa. He dropped flat onto one knee in front of my daughter, taking her small hand into his broad, calloused palm.
"On Thursday at seven-fifteen, Katherine," Maxwell revealed, a dark, brilliant smile curling his severe lips, "Marcus Vance will arrive at the garage expecting an explosion. Instead... he will meet his execution."
Related Stories
