Chapter 7 - The Hostile Takeover
The cathedral was so silent you could hear the flutter of Camila’s nervous breathing.
“Elena, please,” Camila stepped forward, her voice trembling with manufactured innocence, her hands clasped together. “Julian made a foolish joke after too much to drink. You know how men are. Don't destroy two families over a misunderstanding. Think of the Rossi legacy!”
I looked at Camila, seeing right through the polished facade to the desperate social climber beneath.
“The Rossi legacy is already dead, Camila,” I replied coldly. “And you’re standing on its grave.”
At that exact moment, the lead process server stepped onto the altar, handing a thick red folder directly to Julian.
“Julian Rossi, you are hereby served with an emergency federal injunction freezes all offshore assets affiliated with Rossi Maritime Holding,” the officer announced in a flat, clinical tone that resonated through every microphone in the cathedral. “Furthermore, Meridian Capital has exercised its full covenant acceleration clauses. As of 11:45 AM, all voting shares of Rossi Enterprises have been seized and transferred to the primary creditor.”
Julian’s hands shook so violently he dropped the red folder. Papers scattered across the marble floor.
“No... no, this is impossible,” Julian muttered, sinking to his knees on the altar steps, frantically grabbing at the legal documents. “My father would never sign this!”
“Your father didn't have a choice,” Christian said, looking down at Julian with unmasked contempt. “Salvatore signed the collateral guarantees six months ago when he attempted to corner the lithium shipping lanes. He lost four hundred million dollars, Julian. I bought his debt for fifty cents on the dollar. You don't own this cathedral. You don't own your family estate. You don't even own the suit on your back.”
Several prominent investors sitting in the front pews immediately stood up, their faces pale, pulling out their smartphones to check the midday markets.
“My God,” one elderly financier whispered loudly. “Rossi stock is trading at zero point twelve cents. They’re completely wiped out.”
Panic rippled through the pews. Socialites who had kissed Julian’s cheek the night before began grabbing their designer coats, hurrying toward the side exits to distance themselves from the radioactive wreckage of the Rossi name.
Camila stared at Julian, who was crawling on the floor trying to gather scattered legal briefs, his hair disheveled, tears of rage and humiliation streaming down his face.
“Julian?” Camila whispered, taking a step back from him. “Is it true? Are you broke?”
“Camila, help me!” Julian pleaded, looking up at her with desperate, frantic eyes. “Talk to your father! He has connections in the banking commission!”
Camila looked at Julian’s pathetic, groveling posture, then looked at Christian and me standing victorious beneath the grand archways. Without saying another word, Camila dropped her bouquet directly onto Julian’s head, turned around, and fled down the side aisle toward the press exits, desperate to salvage her own reputation.
Julian let out a broken, guttural sob, burying his face in his hands on the steps of the altar where he had intended to cement his absolute dominion.
Christian turned to the stunned priest standing at the pulpit.
“Father,” Christian said politely, producing an official marriage license issued by the City of New York that very morning, signed by a supreme court judge. “It seems the groom has defaulted on his obligations. But the date, the venue, and the bride are ready. Would you mind presiding over a legitimate union?”
May you like
The priest looked at the valid legal document, looked at Julian groveling on the floor being escorted away by federal marshals, and then looked at Christian’s resolute, honorable posture.
“In the eyes of God and this city,” the priest said softly, clearing his throat, “love is built on truth, not pride. Step forward, my children.”
