Chapter 8 - Crossfire at the Gala
As Declan and Sloane ascended the marble stairs, the music from the live symphony orchestra seemed to fade beneath the rising tension of the room.
Victor Vane raised a crystal glass of champagne in a mocking toast as they reached the private terrace. "Declan. I didn't think you’d have the audacity to show your face after your senior partner vanished into thin air."
"Marcus was an unnecessary expense," Declan replied smoothly, stepping forward to shield Sloane slightly. "And you, Victor, are trespassing on my territory."
Vane chuckled, a cold, rasping sound. He gestured toward Nadia, who was trembling behind his guards. "I believe your little research assistant brought me a rather delightful gift tonight. The final master decryption key for the Harrington acquisition."
Nadia looked at Sloane, tears welling in her eyes. "Sloane... I’m so sorry... they told me—"
"It’s okay, Nadia," Sloane interrupted, her voice ringing with absolute calm. "Your brother is eating pizza at a private residence in Brooklyn right now. He’s completely safe."
Vane’s smile instantly evaporated. He snapped his head toward his head of security. "Check the Hoboken post!"
The guard pulled out a satellite radio, listened for three seconds, and his face turned ash-gray. "Sir... the line is dead. The team isn't responding."
Vane’s cold eyes snapped back to Declan, his composure cracking for the first time. "You arrogant bastard. It doesn't matter. The transfer is already running on the private terminal inside the executive suite. In three minutes, Harrington is mine, and Alderman Capital liquidates your company’s stock."
"Is that so?" Sloane stepped forward, her voice cutting through the heavy air with razor-sharp authority. "You really should have checked the IP routing of the terminal before you executed the code, Mr. Vane."
Vane sneered at her. "And who the hell are you? The little girl who got famous on the internet for drooling over her boss?"
"I’m the analyst who wrote the security architecture you’re currently trying to hijack," Sloane replied without flinching. "The master key Nadia gave you wasn't a decryption protocol. It was a reverse-tracing worm. Right now, every offshore account linked to the Vane Group, every shell corporation in Panama, and every illicit transaction you made with Alderman Capital is being routed directly to the Department of Justice, the SEC, and Interpol."
On the glass table behind Vane, the display on his private laptop suddenly flashed bright red.
Lines of automated alerts flooded the screen:
*WARNING: ASSET FREEZE ORDER DETECTED. INTERPOL RED NOTICE ACTIVE.*
*FEDERAL RESERVE INJUNCTION: ACCOUNTS TERMINATED.*
"What did you do?!" Vane roared, his voice echoing over the mezzanine railing.
The music in the ballroom below stuttered and stopped as guests turned toward the commotion. Vane’s hand reached inside his tuxedo jacket for a weapon, but he never got the chance.
Declan closed the distance in a fraction of a second.
He grabbed Vane’s wrist, twisting it with brutal efficiency until the silver-plated pistol clattered harmlessly across the marble floor. Declan drove Vane back against the stone railing, his forearm pressed against the older man’s throat, his eyes burning with terrifying darkness.
"I warned you ten years ago, Victor," Declan whispered in a voice so low and lethal it made the hairs on the back of Sloane’s neck stand up. "You don't touch what belongs to me. You don't threaten my people. And you never, ever come after my firm."
From the stairwells and elevator bays, dozens of federal agents in tactical gear flooded the terrace, badges flashing under the chandeliers.
May you like
"Federal agents! Nobody move!"
Declan stepped back smoothly, straightening the cuffs of his tuxedo as the agents swarmed Vane and his guards, throwing them to the marble floor in handcuffs. The nightmare was over.
