Chapter 4 - The Game of Rooks
Viktor Vance stopped walking three paces from the desk. The amusement vanished from his face, replaced by a cold, calculating stillness that made even Julian shrink back toward the door frame. Viktor looked at Eleanor, then glanced briefly at Beatrice, who sat untouched and unbothered in her golden gown near the fireplace, sipping a glass of port she had poured herself.
“You think a piece of paper from a local magistrate’s office scares me, little girl?” Viktor sneered, though a faint twitch in his jaw betrayed his sudden unease. He reached inside his charcoal trench coat, pulling out a heavy, pearl-handled revolver and laying it flat on the mahogany desk between them. “Papers get burned. Ships get scuttled in international waters. Accidents happen to ambitious women who don't know when to hand over what isn't theirs.”
Martha stood up from her chair, her knees trembling slightly, but her voice carried an iron resolve that commanded the room’s attention. “My husband built this estate with his own hands, Viktor. He dealt with men like you in the dockyards of Boston forty years ago. You bring a gun into a room full of people who already lost everything, and you think you’re holding the winning hand?”
Eleanor didn’t look at the gun. She kept her eyes locked on Viktor’s scarred face, her fingers tracing the edge of the black leather ledger.
“The ship in Seattle isn’t protected by a local magistrate, Viktor,” Eleanor said smoothly. “It’s impounded by federal maritime marshals acting on an interstate wire-fraud indictment filed by the Department of Justice at 11:45 PM. Your cargo containers aren’t carrying electronics. They’re carrying counterfeit bearer bonds linked directly to your Swiss bank accounts.”
Viktor’s hand twitched toward the pearl-handled revolver, but he froze as the heavy front doors of the mansion echoed with the unmistakable sound of multiple heavy boots marching in unison across the grand foyer. Within seconds, the doorway of the study was completely blocked by four federal agents in tactical gear, their submachine guns pointed directly at Viktor’s chest.
“Viktor Vance,” the lead agent called out, his voice sharp and authoritative. “Step away from the desk. Put your hands behind your back. You are under arrest for international money laundering, securities fraud, and conspiracy.”
Julian let out a sharp, pathetic gasp, sliding down the door frame until he was sitting on the Persian rug, clutching his head in utter disbelief. “No… no, Viktor, you said we were untouchable! You said the offshore accounts were clean!”
Viktor didn’t look at Julian. He stared at Eleanor with a look of pure, unadulterated venom as the federal agents moved in, clicking the steel handcuffs around his thick wrists with practiced efficiency. As they dragged him past the desk, Viktor leaned down, his face inches from Eleanor’s ear.
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“You think you won because the feds took me, Eleanor?” Viktor hissed softly, his breath hot and foul. “Check your mother’s medical records tomorrow morning. The poison was never in the money.”
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