Chapter 6 - The Fall of Julian Vance
By noon, the financial markets in downtown Chicago were in absolute turmoil.
The Chicago Sun-Times and the Financial Chronicle ran identical front-page banner headlines: VANGUARD LOGISTICS IMPLODES: FEDERAL RAIDS EXPOSE MULTI-MILLION-DOLLAR RACKETEERING RING.
From my private study, I watched the live news coverage on the wall-mounted monitor.
Julian Vance, handcuffed and flanked by federal marshals, was being led out of the glass-and-steel Vanguard Tower by the FBI’s anti-corruption unit. His expensive bespoke suit was rumpled, his hair disheveled, and his face twisted in absolute fury as camera flashes blinded him from every angle. He tried to shield his face with his briefcase, but the cameras captured every humiliating second of his downfall.
The reporter on the screen spoke rapidly into her microphone:
“...Federal investigators confirm that an anonymous whistleblower within the city’s corporate infrastructure provided an airtight digital ledger detailing three months of illegal stock manipulation, corporate espionage, and attempted corporate takeover targeting Moretti Global Enterprises. Vanguard CEO Julian Vance is currently being held without bail, facing up to thirty years in federal prison...”
The screen flickered as Gabriel walked into the study, holding a sleek digital tablet.
“Vance’s defense counsel just tried to cut a deal with the U.S. Attorney,” Gabriel reported, a smug grin crossing his face. “They offered to turn over all remaining corporate assets if the government drops the racketeering charges.”
“And what did the U.S. Attorney say?” I asked, leaning back in my leather chair.
“They told them to pound sand,” Gabriel laughed. “We’ve already initiated the hostile acquisition of Vanguard’s waterfront portfolio through our shell corporations. By sunset, every single dock, warehouse, and shipping lane they tried to steal will be officially registered under Moretti Holdings.”
I nodded slowly, turning my gaze back to Sophia’s crayon drawing resting on the corner of my desk.
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“Make sure Victor Salvatore is transferred to the maximum-security federal penitentiary in Terre Haute,” I instructed quietly. “Put him in general population. Let him experience what it’s like to live without administrative guards or corporate protection.”
“Done,” Gabriel said. “He’ll be on a federal transport bus by nightfall.”
