Chapter 4 - The Shadow Behind the Chair
The silence in the grand conference room was deafening.
Laya Morgan covered her mouth with her hand, staring at the photos in shock. Victor Chun leaned back in his leather chair, a cold, satisfied smile playing on his lips.
Malcolm Reed backed away from the table, his hands shaking so violently that his silver cuff links clinked against his jacket sleeves.
"Roman... Roman, please," Malcolm whimpered, his smooth corporate accent dissolving into desperate panic. "Listen to me! I was forced into this! They threatened my family!"
Roman didn't move an inch. "Who threatened you, Malcolm?"
"Blackwood Financial!" Malcolm blurted out, tears of terror brimming in his eyes. "The syndicate in New York! They bought up my personal gambling debts in Atlantic City six months ago! Two million dollars! They told me if I didn't break your partnership with Victor Chun and give them control of the Boston port terminals... they would kill my daughter!"
Roman stared at Malcolm with a terrifying blend of pity and disgust.
"You traded my family's legacy and your own soul to cover your gambling debts," Roman whispered coldly. "And you used my hospitality, my trust, and my home to do it."
"Roman, please!" Malcolm fell to his knees on the carpet, begging like a dog. "I'll give you everything! The offshore account numbers, the names of the brokers in New York, the meeting locations! Just don't hand me over to Dante! Please!"
Roman looked at Dante.
"Take him out," Roman ordered flatly. "Turn him over to the Federal Bureau of Investigation along with the security footage, the paper trail, and the financial audit. Let him spend the next twenty years in a federal penitentiary reflecting on what his greed bought him."
Dante stepped forward, grabbed Malcolm by the collar of his expensive London suit, and hauled him off his knees like a sack of trash. Malcolm screamed and pleaded, his voice echoing down the hallway as Dante pulled him out of the room and closed the heavy oak door.
The conference room returned to a heavy, breathless quiet.
Sofia Vance and Arthur Sterling sat in stunned silence, unable to process how rapidly their Chief Strategy Officer had been stripped of his power and led away in disgrace.
Victor Chun stood up smoothly from his seat. He adjusted his dark coat, picked up page forty-seven from the table, and looked at Roman Bellini.
"You have snakes in your executive garden, Roman," Victor noted calmly.
"Every garden has snakes, Victor," Roman replied smoothly. "The secret is having people who can spot them before they bite."
Victor looked across the table at me and Elsie.
A warm, rare smile softened the Chinese billionaire's strict features. He walked around the table, stopped in front of my chair, and reached into his inner pocket.
He pulled out a sleek, gold fountain pen decorated with a delicate red dragon carving—a family heirloom worth thousands of dollars.
Victor offered the gold pen to Elsie.
"For you, little lion-catcher," Victor said gently. "A gift for having better eyes than an entire board of corporate directors."
Elsie looked at the shiny pen, then looked at me. "Can I have it, Mommy?"
I smiled, tears of relief pricking my eyes. "Say thank you to Mr. Chun, Elsie."
"Thank you, dragon mister!" Elsie squeaked happily, taking the heavy gold pen in her tiny hand.
May you like
Victor turned back to Roman, extending his hand across the table.
"The real master contract," Victor said, "printed on the proper Bellini crest paper... let us sign it now."
