Chapter 7 - The Confrontation on the 42nd Floor
Within twenty minutes, the heavy oak doors of Julian’s study banged open.
Two armed security guards dragged Marcus Vance into the center of the room. Marcus’s designer suit was rumpled, his face flushed with panic and unadulterated rage as he tried to wrench his arms free.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Marcus roared, glaring at Julian. "Are you out of your mind?! Having your thugs put hands on me over some fabricated accounting glitch?"
Julian didn't raise his voice. He sat calmly behind his desk, resting his hands over the red folder Scarlett had compiled.
"Glitch, Marcus?" Julian asked, his voice chillingly level. "Is that what you call twelve million dollars routed through Apex Logistics to a Swiss account bearing your signature?"
Marcus’s face instantly drained of all color. His eyes darted toward Scarlett, who stood quietly by the window, and a look of pure, venomous hatred twisted his features.
"You!" Marcus snarled, lunging forward before the guards could stop him. "You little diner trash! You don't know what you're messing with! Julian, she's an outsider! She's probably an informant for the Feds trying to take down the whole family from the inside!"
Before Marcus could take another step, Julian moved with terrifying speed.
He didn't shout. He simply stood up from his chair, walked around the desk, and delivered a single, devastating backhand across Marcus’s face that sent his cousin crashing hard against the mahogany bookcase.
The room went dead silent. Marcus groaned, clutching his bleeding lip, staring up at Julian in absolute terror.
"Never speak to her that way again," Julian said, his voice dropping into an arctic register that made the blood run cold. "She is smarter than you, she is more loyal than you, and as of today, she owns a ten percent equity stake in the real estate division you just tried to rob."
Marcus scrambled backward on the floor, realizing his game was entirely over. He looked from Julian’s dead-cold eyes to the armed guards towering above him.
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"Take him to the private hangar," Julian commanded quietly. "Put him on the red-eye cargo flight to our South American holdings. Let him see how well he survives without a Swiss bank account or a family name."
The guards hauled Marcus up by his arms, dragging him kicking and screaming out of the executive suite. The heavy oak doors clicked shut, sealing away the last internal threat to the Vance empire.
