Chapter 4 - The Reckoning in Savannah
The Grand Regency Hotel was a high-rise luxury establishment located six blocks from my own property. But unlike Sterling Harbor, which was built on old-world elegance and strict discipline, the Regency was a noisy, modern casino-hotel heavily infiltrated by the Marcone syndicate's illicit gambling operations.
At 5:45 PM, a rain-drenched twilight settled over the city once more.
Inside Suite 1204 of the Regency, Dominic Marcone sat on a leather sofa, smoking a cigar while two of his bodyguards stood near the entrance. Dominic was fifty years old, heavy-set, with a scarred jaw and a reputation for extreme, unpredictable violence.
"Where is that coward Vance?" Dominic growled, flicking cigar ash onto the carpet. "He’s fifteen minutes late."
"He sent his driver up, Boss," one of the bodyguards replied, checking the hallway camera on his phone. "The driver is holding the silver courier briefcase."
"Bring him in," Dominic ordered.
The double doors of the suite swung open.
A tall man in a long dark coat stepped inside, holding a polished steel briefcase. He wore a wide-brimmed hat tilted low over his eyes.
Dominic didn't even look up from his drink. "Set it on the table, driver. And tell Vance if he’s late again next month, I’ll cut five percent off his cut."
The man holding the briefcase didn't set it down. Instead, he reached up and slowly removed his hat.
Dominic’s eyes locked onto the face of the man standing before him. The cigar nearly dropped from his mouth.
"Grant Holloway," Dominic gasped, instantly standing up. His two bodyguards reached frantically into their jackets for their sidearms.
CRACK! CRACK!
From the hallway behind me, Dante stepped into the room with a suppressed weapon, dropping both bodyguards to the floor before they could even draw their weapons. The suppressed shots were soft, sounding like nothing more than light coughs against the thick carpet.
Dominic backed up against his wet window, his face pale with shock. "Holloway! What the hell is the meaning of this?! You can't just march into my hotel!"
I walked forward, setting the silver briefcase onto the mahogany glass table between us. I popped the brass latches open with two sharp clicks.
Dominic looked down, expecting to see stacks of hundred-dollar bills.
Instead, the briefcase contained a stack of notarized legal confessions, bank transfer statements, and a video monitor displaying a recorded confession from Arthur Vance detailing every illegal wire transfer between Charleston and Savannah over the last four years.
"Your siphon at Sterling Harbor has been plugged, Dominic," I said softly, sitting down on the sofa across from him.
Dominic’s jaw tightened, his fear quickly turning into desperate, vicious anger. "You think a few bank papers scare me, Holloway?! My family controls every shipping dock from Savannah to Jacksonville! You touch me, and my brother will bring a hundred men to Charleston by midnight!"
I took a slow sip from my glass of water, watching him like a predator watching a trapped animal.
"Your brother isn't coming to Charleston, Dominic," I said calmly. "At four o'clock this afternoon, federal agents seized your family's shipping terminal in Savannah. It turns out that when you used Arthur Vance to steal from my hotel, you left a paper trail that linked directly to your family's illegal weapons trade."
Dominic’s breath caught in his throat. "What... what did you do?"
"I didn't do anything," I replied smoothly. "I simply sent a copy of your bank records to the United States Attorney's office. You tried to play a quiet game of white-collar theft in my house, Dominic. But you forgot that I own the city you're standing in."
Dante stepped up beside Dominic, pressing the cold barrel of a suppressed pistol against the back of his neck.
"You have two hours to get out of South Carolina," I told him, my voice carrying an absolute, terrifying weight. "If I see your face or hear your name in this state again... Dante won't use paper to settle the bill."
Dominic stared at me, his body shaking with unadulterated terror. He realized that in less than twenty-four hours, I had systematically destroyed his entire financial network, cut off his revenue, turned his political allies against him, and run him out of the state without firing a single unsuppressed shot.
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"Get out," I said quietly.
Dominic didn't say another word. He turned, practically stumbling over his own feet, and fled down the private service stairwell, leaving his empire in ruins behind him.
