Chapter 5 - The Counter-Strike
By the end of the second week, Julian was completely unraveled. Stripped of his corporate title, exiled from the syndicate’s inner circle, and living in a mid-tier high-rise with Serena—who was already growing resentful of their drastically reduced lifestyle—he decided to launch a desperate, reckless counter-attack.
It came not in a boardroom, but in the shadows of the city's legal courts.
Late on a Tuesday evening, while Nikolai was detained across town managing a port inspection, an emergency injunction was filed against Hart Enterprises by a phantom shell company named Vanguard Holdings. The filing claimed that my acquisition of the company’s voting shares was fraudulent and demanded an immediate injunction freezing all shipping licenses.
Penny burst into my penthouse office at 9:00 PM, waving a tablet in my face.
“Evelyn! Look at this! Vanguard Holdings just filed an injunction to freeze our entire maritime logistics fleet! If those ships don't clear customs by midnight, we lose millions in international cargo contracts!”
I didn't panic. I calmly closed my laptop, spun around in my leather chair, and looked at the digital seal on the court filing.
“Vanguard Holdings,” I murmured, a faint smile touching my lips. “Julian thinks he’s playing chess.”
“It’s him?” Penny asked, her eyes widening. “How? He doesn't have that kind of capital left!”
“He doesn't,” I said, standing up and grabbing my coat. “But my father’s former offshore accounts do. Julian must have convinced my father to back one last desperate legal strike to reclaim control of the company before the board officially votes me in as permanent Chairwoman tomorrow morning.”
Before Penny could reply, my phone buzzed on the desk.
An incoming video call from an unregistered number.
I tapped the screen. Julian’s face flickered into view, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent light of a basement parking garage. He looked frantic, his hair disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled.
“Surprised to see me, Evelyn?” Julian sneered through the screen. “You thought you could just lock me out of the boardroom and take everything? The injunction is signed. Unless you step down from the CEO position by midnight and sign the company back over to your father, I will drag your name and the Moretti syndicate through every federal court in the country.”
I stared at him with absolute, clinical detachment.
“Julian,” I said softly, my voice cutting through his frantic threats. “Do you know why Nikolai gave me this company?”
Julian paused, narrowing his eyes. “What are you talking about?”
“Because when I built the supply chain architecture for Hart Enterprises three years ago, I didn't just write the logistics code,” I continued, walking slowly toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the glowing Chicago skyline. “I inserted a sovereign default clause into every international shipping contract we hold. Any external legal challenge filed against our primary voting shares automatically triggers an immediate asset transfer to a secure parent trust.”
Julian’s face went pale. “That’s... that’s not legal. No one structures maritime contracts like that!”
“I do,” I replied smoothly. “And as of three minutes ago, when your phantom shell company filed that injunction, the system automatically recognized it as a hostile breach of covenant.”
I leaned closer to the camera.
“Which means every single asset, account, and property owned by Vanguard Holdings—including the offshore funds your father foolishly allowed you to touch—has just been legally seized by the Moretti family trust.”
Julian froze. His phone shook in his hand. “No... no, that’s impossible... Dad said those accounts were safe...!”
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“Your father was wrong,” I said. “Just like you were wrong when you traded me for Serena.”
I ended the call, cutting off his panicked screams before he could say another word.
