Chapter 4 - The House of Cards
"This is insane!" Marcus shouted, his voice cracking with panic as he looked around the room for any sign of loyalty from the armed guards stationed outside the hall. But through the open archway, Marcus could see that their own security detail had already been disarmed, bound, and lined up against the corridor walls by Vincent’s men.
"Insane?" Vincent asked, turning his amber-flecked eyes toward Marcus. "What’s insane is believing you could murder my son, forge his signature on the corporate transfer deeds, and live like kings in a mansion built on stolen blood."
Julian finally managed to wrench his neck free as the bodyguard released him, stumbling forward onto his hands and knees. He coughed violently, wiping drool and blood from his chin, before glaring up at Clara with pure, unadulterated venom.
"You bitch," Julian hissed, lunging upward toward the table to grab a steak knife. "I’ll cut your throat right here—"
He didn't even make it two steps.
Before Julian’s fingers grazed the silver cutlery, Vincent’s hand moved with blinding, lethal speed. He drew a custom-engraved Walther pistol from his shoulder holster and fired a single round directly into the mahogany floorboards, an inch from Julian’s right boot.
BANG.
The deafening report echoed off the stone walls like thunder. The smell of cordite filled the dining room instantly.
Julian shrieked like a child, throwing his hands over his head and collapsing backward onto the shattered glass and wine on the floor.
"Move another inch, boy, and the next bullet goes through your kneecap," Vincent said, his voice entirely devoid of emotion. "You inherited your father’s greed, Julian, but none of his caution. You hit my granddaughter. You bled her on my table. For that alone, I should dismantle your entire family line tonight."
Teresa stepped in front of Julian defensively, her hands shaking, her veneer of aristocratic pride completely shattered. "Vincent, please... let's be reasonable. We can negotiate. We can divide the shipping ports, split the Swiss accounts—"
"There is nothing to negotiate, Teresa," Vincent interrupted coldly. He gestured to the two bodyguards standing near the entrance. "Take them. All of them. Load them into the vans. The federal marshals are already waiting at the downtown precinct with warrants for corporate fraud, racketeering, and conspiracy to commit murder."
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"Federal marshals?" Serena screamed, clutching her pearls. "You can't do that! We'll expose your syndicate too!"
"My syndicate was dissolved legally ten years ago when I retired from active operations," Vincent replied smoothly. "What remains is a clean, multi-billion-dollar global investment fund. Unfortunately, the same cannot be said for your family’s shell companies."
