Chapter 23
The executive penthouse office was locked down in absolute digital silence. On the mahogany desk, the decrypted surveillance feed from the parking garage played in slow motion on a high-definition monitor.
Ezra paced slowly across the Persian rug, his jaw clenched tight, the knuckles of his right hand slightly bruised from the quick altercation downstairs. Pavl stood by the floor-to-ceiling windows, tapping furiously on his encrypted tablet.
"We ran facial recognition on the mercenaries," Pavl announced, turning the tablet toward Ezra. "They belong to a black-ops security firm called Vanguard Logistics, currently contracted under a shell corporation owned by Julian Cross."
Ezra stopped pacing. His pale grey eyes darkened into a terrifying shade of slate. "Julian Cross."
"You know him?" Nessa asked, walking over from the private kitchen area with a fresh glass of water.
"Julian Cross was my father’s primary financial strategist before my father suffered his first stroke," Ezra explained, his voice dangerously low. "When I took over the syndicate, Cross was one of the first people I bought out and retired with a massive severance package. I thought he retired to the Swiss Alps. Turns out, he’s been quietly buying up our old Port Lands warehouses."
"He thinks you've gone soft," Nessa said, setting her glass down on the desk. "He thinks that because we transitioned the foundation into arts and community outreach, the Blackwood syndicate is ripe for a hostile takeover."
"A hostile takeover backed by tactical mercenaries," Pavl added grimly. "Cross has scheduled a public charity gala at the Royal Ontario Museum tomorrow night. Half the city's elite will be there—including city council members, federal prosecutors, and major foundation donors. If Cross makes a move there, it will destroy everything we’ve built."
May you like
Ezra looked at Nessa, his gaze softening beneath the fierce protective resolve. "I told you this world was complicated. Cross knows about your concerts. He knows you’ll be performing at the museum gala tomorrow night."
Nessa walked right up to him, placing her hands firmly against his chest, feeling the steady, powerful beat of his heart beneath his tailored shirt. "Let him come," she said quietly, a fierce, confident smile touching her lips. "If Julian Cross wants to play high-society games, we’ll show him how a real champion finishes a match."
