Chapter 7 - The Boardroom Execution
The air in the library froze solid.
"What do you mean, they have him?" I stepped forward, my hands gripping the edge of the desk. "Where is he?!"
"The caller didn't give a location," Ethan said, running a hand through his dark hair, pacing the Persian rug like a caged wolf. "They played a thirty-second audio clip. It was Caleb’s voice, coughing, weak... asking for water. And then Arthur Sterling’s voice came on the line."
Marcus’s hand dropped instantly to his concealed shoulder holster. "What did Sterling demand?"
"Fifty percent voting control of Callahan Global, transferred immediately to an offshore trust," Ethan growled, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles turned translucent. "And he wants me to sign over my personal residential assets, including this estate. He wants me bankrupt, broken, and stripped of power before sunrise tomorrow."
"And if you don't?" I asked, my heart hammering against my ribs.
"Then my brother dies," Ethan said flatly.
For a terrifying moment, the unbreakable titan of Chicago looked entirely human—broken by the very family bonds he had spent a lifetime trying to protect.
I walked across the room, stepping directly into his line of sight. I reached out, placing my hand over his clenched fist.
"Ethan," I said, my voice steady and clear, cutting through his panic. "Listen to me. You built an empire because you are the smartest, most ruthless man in this city. Don't let Sterling dictate the terms of war. He wants you panicked. He wants you to surrender out of fear."
Ethan looked down at my hand, then up into my eyes. The wild panic in his grey gaze slowly receded, replaced once again by the cold, calculated brilliance of the wolf.
"You're right," Ethan murmured, his jaw hardening into steel. "Sterling thinks he has checkmate. But he forgot one crucial detail."
"What's that?" Marcus asked.
"Caleb wasn't the only one who kept records," Ethan said, walking over to the safe behind his mahogany desk and punching in a complex digital sequence. Win-loss ledgers, recorded wire transfers, and federal subpoenas slid out of the reinforced steel compartment. "Caleb sent me a backup of his financial log three days before he 'vanished.' I’ve had federal prosecutors sitting on these documents for six months, waiting for Sterling to make his final, desperate play."
May you like
Ethan pulled out his phone, dialing a direct, unlisted number.
"Get the FBI’s white-collar crime division on the secure line," Ethan commanded into the phone. "Tell them Arthur Sterling’s arrest warrants are authorized. We’re ending this tonight."
