Chapter 8 - The Counter-Strike
"A forgery," I said, my voice dropping an octave as I stepped closer to Victor, refusing to let him see me shake. "You always were a third-rate accountant, Uncle. You don't know how to build an empire, so you try to forge the blueprints."
Victor’s eyes narrowed into slits. "Try telling that to the federal prosecutor when the wire transfers hit public record tomorrow morning at nine."
"There won't be a tomorrow morning for you to read the news, Victor," a calm, chilling voice echoed from the upper catwalks above the warehouse.
Every head snapped upward. Standing on the iron grating, illuminated by a spotlight, was Marcus Vance—Dominic’s chief intelligence officer and cyber-forensics expert. In his hands, he held a ruggedized military laptop, connected to the warehouse's PA system.
Marcus tapped a key, and a loud, clear audio recording began to play across the massive speakers.
*"...just make sure the digital signature matches Claire Mercer's handwriting from her college transcripts,"* Victor's voice boomed through the warehouse, crystal clear and undeniable. *"Once the feds raid the foundation, Dominic will be forced to execute her himself, or look weak to the council. Either way, the Vales fracture from within."*
The color drained entirely from Victor’s face. He stumbled back a step, staring up at the catwalk in absolute horror. "That... that's edited! That's a deepfake!"
"We pulled that straight from your private server in your Lincoln Park penthouse twenty minutes ago, Victor," Dominic said softly, stepping in front of me like a protective wall. "While you were standing here trying to play chess, my men were tearing your house down to the studs."
Victor’s bodyguards frantically reached for their weapons, but they were a fraction of a second too late. From the shadows surrounding the warehouse, red laser sights flickered to life across every single one of Victor's men. Twenty sniper rifles were locked on their chests.
"Drop them," Dominic commanded.
Clatter of metal hitting concrete echoed loudly. Victor stood completely alone in the center of the ring, his hands trembling as he realized he had walked straight into a meticulously engineered trap.
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"Take him away," Dominic ordered without looking back. "Put him in the lower hold of the freighter heading to Rotterdam. Let him audit the shipping lanes from the bottom of the ocean."
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