Chapter 6 - The Final Facet
Three days later, the storm broke.
Viktor Vance was dining at an exclusive, members-only restaurant on the Magnificent Mile, laughing with two local politicians over expensive wine, completely unaware that the world he thought he controlled had already collapsed around him.
The heavy glass doors of the restaurant swung open.
There were no gunshots. There was no chaos. Just the heavy, intimidating presence of twenty armed men in bespoke black suits moving with absolute military precision, sealing every exit.
I walked straight to Vance’s table.
Vance looked up, his wine glass halting halfway to his mouth. The color drained from his face instantly. He tried to stand, but my lead guard shoved him back down into his chair with enough force to splinter the wood.
“Marcus,” Vance gasped, forcing a pathetic, trembling smile. “What a... what a surprise. To what do I owe the honor?”
I pulled out the printed emails from my pocket and tossed them across the white tablecloth, right into his plate of seared scallops.
Vance looked down. The smile vanished, replaced by the desperate panic of a cornered rat.
“You spent ten years hiding behind offshore accounts and fake retirements, Viktor,” I said, my voice dangerously low, carrying across the dead-silent dining room. “You thought that by killing Grace, you could destabilize my empire and take over the northern shipping lanes.”
“I—I had nothing to do with that!” Vance stammered, raising his hands. “It was a rogue element! It was—!”
“It was you,” I interrupted, resting both hands on the back of his chair, leaning down until our faces were inches apart. “And the worst part of your pathetic, calculating little life... is that you failed.”
Vance frowned, confused. “Failed?”
“You tried to destroy my family,” I whispered, a dark, victorious smile touching my lips. “You thought you left me with nothing. But you forgot that twins share more than just a face. They share a legacy. And now, both of my daughters are safe, under my roof, protected by an empire that you are about to fund from a prison cell.”
I straightened up, snapping my fingers.
May you like
“Take him,” I ordered. “Strip his accounts, seize his properties, and leave him to rot in a federal maximum-security holding until he begs for the mercy I am not going to give.”
As Vance was dragged kicking and screaming out of the restaurant, the patrons watched in stunned silence. I adjusted my cuffs, turned around, and walked back out into the Chicago night.
