Chapter 7 - The Empire’s Rot
By nightfall, the full scope of the conspiracy had become clear. Using Celia’s encrypted satellite phone, Adrian bypassed his compromised corporate networks and established contact with his most loyal street captains—the old guard who answered only to him, men who cared nothing for boardrooms or stock portfolios.
The news from Manhattan was grim.
Marcus had already held a press conference outside Voss Tower. Flanked by Adrian’s visibly weeping sister, Clara—who was completely oblivious to her husband’s monstrous betrayal—Marcus had announced that Adrian’s train had been attacked by unknown domestic extremists. He had solemnly declared Adrian missing and presumed dead, citing the recovery of charred personal items from the crash site.
“He’s calling an emergency shareholder vote for midnight,” Adrian muttered, reading the live financial wire updates on Celia’s tablet. “He’s using emergency succession bylaws to transfer voting control of Voss Holdings to his private entity. If those shares transfer, he liquidates our entire security apparatus and replaces it with his private mercenary contractors.”
“Then we have five hours,” Celia said, checking the magazine of her rifle. “Voss Tower will be locked down tighter than a federal penitentiary. His private contractors will be stationed at every entrance, lobby, and freight elevator.”
“They won't be watching the underground vaults,” Adrian said, a dangerous smirk touching his lips. “When I built Voss Tower, I bought the abandoned subway substation beneath the foundation. It connects directly to my private office via a hydraulic service lift that isn't listed on any architectural blueprints filed with the city.”
Gabriel emerged from the back room, his arm in a sling, his face pale but determined. “I’m driving, Boss.”
“You can barely hold a steering wheel, Gabriel,” Adrian said firmly.
“I can drive with my left hand, Mr. Voss,” Gabriel replied, his voice rock-solid. “And there is no universe where I let you walk into that building without me.”
Adrian looked at his loyal protector, then at Celia, who was already securing extra ammunition pouches around her waist. For years, Adrian had believed that power was an isolated fortress, that trusting anyone was an inherent weakness. Yet standing in this cold, dusty garage, surrounded by two people who had bled for him without asking for a dime, he felt a strange, profound clarity.
May you like
He walked over to Celia and extended his hand. “Partner?”
She looked at his hand, then smiled—a real, radiant smile that completely transformed her face. She clasped his palm firmly. “Partner. Let’s go crash a funeral.”
