Chapter 5 - The Masterstroke
Grant walked over to the corner of his office and picked up his private mobile phone. He didn't call the Dallas police department. Local authorities would require hours of jurisdiction checks and subpoena reviews to intervene in a white-collar financial dispute.
Instead, Grant dialed a direct line to the Special Agent in Charge at the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Financial Crimes Division in Fort Worth—Agent Raymond Vance, an old fraternity brother and former naval intelligence officer whose daughter Grant had sponsored for college.
"Ray," Grant said without preamble. "I have Viktor Petrov and Dennis Clark sitting in the Crescent Club penthouse with evidence of an ongoing eighty-million-dollar interstate wire fraud and corporate extortion scheme. How fast can you get a tactical white-collar team on site?"
Agent Vance’s tone turned instantly sharp. "Petrov? We’ve been tracking that alias through three bankruptcies across the Midwest for eighteen months. We had the accounts, but we never had the physical link connecting him to Clark’s domestic holdings. Are you certain he’s at the Crescent?"
"He just confirmed it on my private line," Grant said. "And I have the widow of Mark Walker sitting in my office right now, ready to provide eyewitness documentation connecting Clark’s operation to the Mason Street collapse."
"Hold your position, Grant," Vance ordered. "Do not transfer a single dime. We will wire you with audio surveillance and meet you in the lobby of the Crescent at 12:45. Let them think the fish is in the net."
Grant hung up and turned back to Emily.
Emily was sitting on the sofa, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. "Mr. Holloway... are we going to be in danger? What if Dennis finds out we were the ones who spoke?"
Grant walked over to her and sat in the armchair opposite the sofa. His demeanor was entirely devoid of the cold, arrogant authority that usually defined him.
"Emily," Grant said, his voice quiet and completely sincere. "You and Sophie just saved my life, my company, and the livelihoods of two hundred and thirty families who work in this building. From this moment on, nobody touches you. Nobody threatens you. You have the full protection of my firm and my resources."
He reached into his breast pocket, pulled out his personal black titanium credit card, and handed it to Emily.
"Take Sophie downstairs to the company car waiting in the basement. My driver, Thomas, will take you directly to the Four Seasons. Check into the presidential suite under my name. Stay there until I call you."
May you like
Emily stared at the card, tears welling in her eyes once more. "I... I can't accept this, Mr. Holloway. I was just doing my job. Sophie shouldn't have been in your chair."
Grant looked at Sophie and offered a warm, genuine smile. "That chair belongs to anyone smart enough to recognize a snake, Sophie. Go have some room service ice cream. Let me go finish what you started."
