Chapter 3 : The Midnight Reckoning
Chapter 3 : The Midnight Reckoning
The boardroom was a cathedral of glass and steel, perched on the forty-second floor of the Ashford Tower. At midnight, the city lights below looked like embers in a dying fire.
The head of Procurement, a man named Sterling, sat at the mahogany table, looking bored. He was a man of expensive habits and arrogant posture, the kind of executive who believed his proximity to my father’s inner circle made him invisible.
"Evelyn," Sterling said, not even standing as I entered. "This midnight meeting is a bit dramatic, don't you think? I have a golf trip to the Hamptons at six."
I didn't answer. I walked to the head of the table and sat down, my presence silencing the room. Vance stood behind me, a shadow that exuded silent intimidation.
"Mr. Sterling," I began, my voice clear and cutting through the stillness. "I visited one of our boutiques today. The one managed by David."
Sterling’s smile flickered, but he held his ground. "I heard. A regrettable incident with an unruly customer. David can be a bit zealous, but he’s very protective of our margins."
"He was zealous, alright," I agreed. I tapped the tablet on the table, and a video feed appeared on the massive wall monitor. It wasn't the store footage. It was a private video from a warehouse in the industrial district, showing Sterling himself handing over a manifest to a man known to be an associate of the syndicate.
Sterling’s face drained of color. He stood up, his chair clattering backward. "That—that’s a deepfake. That’s blackmail."
"It’s an audit, Sterling," I said, leaning forward. "And it’s quite real. The police are downstairs in the lobby, waiting for the results of this meeting. I have two choices for you. You can walk out those doors in cuffs, or you can give me the name of the syndicate contact who told you to push those counterfeits into our supply chain."
The silence in the room was absolute. The other board members looked at Sterling with a mix of shock and dawning survival instinct.
Sterling looked at me, then at Vance, who was calmly checking the time on his watch. He knew he was done. He slumped back into his chair, his arrogance dissolving into the damp, pathetic sweat of a cornered animal.
"It was Marcus Thorne," Sterling whispered.
May you like
I felt a chill run down my spine. Marcus Thorne. My father’s oldest rival, the man who had been trying to dismantle our company from the outside for twenty years. To find out he had been orchestrating it from the inside was a tactical earthquake.
"Get him out of here," I said to Vance. "And notify the authorities. I have what I need."
