Chapter 7
The descent down the grand staircase of the Grand Meridian Hotel felt like walking into the eye of a storm. The glittering chandeliers overhead cast long, distorted shadows across the marble steps. Clara walked in the lead, her posture straight, her dark evening dress sweeping silently behind her. Ryan followed closely on her right, carrying the heavy black briefcase containing the damning evidence, while Julian walked on her left, his eyes constantly scanning the shadows for any sign of Richard’s operatives.
The lobby was mostly deserted at this late hour, save for the night concierge nodding behind the mahogany desk and a lone security guard sipping coffee near the revolving doors.
"The CFO Richard sent to complete the transaction," Ryan whispered, keeping his voice low as they reached the bottom of the stairs. "His name is Marcus Vance, a distant cousin who sold out to our uncle years ago. He's scheduled to meet a courier at the lounge bar in five minutes."
"Let's crash the meeting," Clara said without hesitation.
They crossed the open expanse of the marble floor, their footsteps echoing softly in the cavernous space. As they approached the dimly lit mezzanine lounge, the low murmur of jazz music drifted out from the recessed archway. Sitting in a leather booth near the back was a man in an expensive charcoal suit, tapping impatiently on the screen of a tablet.
Marcus Vance looked up as the trio approached his table. His eyes widened slightly in surprise as he recognized Julian, but then a cold, knowing smirk spread across his face.
"Julian," Marcus said smoothly, leaning back against the leather upholstery. "I didn't expect you to show up in person. And who's this? Your late brother’s ghost, and a very unhappy-looking bride."
Ryan stepped forward, slamming his briefcase down onto the glass table with a heavy thud that rattled the crystal glassware. "The game is over, Marcus. We know about the asset transfer, and we know about Richard's shell companies."
Marcus didn't flinch. He took a slow sip of his scotch, his eyes gleaming with malicious amusement. "You have no proof, Ryan. Legally, Julian Vance is the registered owner of the suburban estate, and his digital signature authorized every transaction on that server."
"Not anymore," a calm, authoritative voice echoed from behind them.
May you like
Marcus’s smirk vanished. A tall, silver-haired man in an impeccably tailored black overcoat stepped out from the shadows of the archway, flanked by two burly security guards in dark suits. Richard Vance smiled thinly, his cold eyes fixing on his nephews.
"It's touching to see the family reunited," Richard said, stepping into the dim light of the lounge. "Too bad it has to end so abruptly."
