Chapter 8 - The Contract In The Ashbourne Suite
The morning sun finally broke through the gray overcast sky, illuminating the glass towers of the city in brilliant flashes of gold.
Down on the street level, sirens wailed in the distance as three unmarked federal cruisers pulled up to the curb outside Vance Maritime. But Julian didn't stay to watch the spectacle. He climbed into the rear seat of a fresh town car driven by Thomas, checking his watch.
8:15 AM.
""The Trade Center, Mr. Hale?"" Thomas asked through the rearview mirror.
""The Trade Center,"" Julian confirmed, letting his head rest against the leather seat. The adrenaline that had carried him through the confrontation was beginning to wane, and the throbbing pain in his stitched shoulder was returning with brutal intensity. But there was still one piece of business remaining.
Fifteen minutes later, Julian walked into the executive boardroom on the fiftieth floor of the World Trade Center.
The seven members of the board—including Director Campbell and Director Hayes, the two men Arthur Vance had bribed—were seated around the thirty-foot glass table. When Julian walked through the door, untouched, impeccably dressed, and radiating absolute power, Campbell’s coffee cup rattled against its saucer.
Julian didn't sit down. He tossed a single blue folder onto the center of the table.
""Good morning, gentlemen,"" Julian said smoothly. ""Before we review the morning agenda, I have an administrative announcement. Director Campbell, Director Hayes. Your resignations have been accepted by the executive governance committee, effective five minutes ago.""
Campbell turned bright red, standing up indignantly. ""You can't do that, Julian! The board requires a two-thirds majority to remove a sitting director!""
""The board requires a two-thirds majority to remove an honest director, Robert,"" Julian replied, his voice laced with venomous calm. ""Traitors who accept wire transfers from Panamanian shell companies are removed under the federal corporate corruption statutes. The marshals are currently processing Arthur Vance. If you'd like to join him in the holding cells, feel free to contest your removal.""
Campbell looked at Hayes, whose face was pale as chalk. Without another word, both men gathered their tablets, pushed their chairs back, and hurried out of the room like scolded schoolboys.
Julian turned to the remaining five directors, who were staring at him in stunned silence.
""Now,"" Julian said, taking his seat at the head of the table. ""Regarding the southern harbor development. Hale Enterprises is committing one hundred and twenty million dollars to modernize the piers, guarantee all union pension funds for thirty years, and establish a permanent maritime training academy for local youth.""
He looked around the table. ""All those in favor?""
Every single hand went up instantly.
""Meeting adjourned,"" Julian said, checking his watch again.
8:45 AM.
He walked out of the boardroom and pulled his phone from his pocket, dialing the private line to the River House.
The phone rang twice before Mrs. Gable answered. ""River House.""
""Mrs. Gable, it's Julian. Let me speak to Claire.""
There was a brief pause on the line, followed by the sound of muffled voices. Then Mrs. Gable’s voice came back, strained and breathless. ""Mr. Julian... you need to get to St. Jude’s immediately.""
Julian froze in the middle of the marble lobby. ""What happened? Did Vance's men—""
""No, sir! No men! The perimeter is completely secure!"" Mrs. Gable exclaimed. ""It's Ms. Claire! Her water broke twenty minutes ago! Sister Beatrice had an ambulance transport her to St. Jude's private clinic under police escort! The contractions are four minutes apart!""
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The phone nearly slipped from Julian's hand. The man who had faced down armed killers, corrupt syndicates, and corporate treachery without blinking suddenly felt his knees turn to water.
""Thomas!"" Julian roared, sprinting toward the elevator bank. ""Get the car! South harbor! Run every red light in this city!"""
