Chapter 7 - THE TRAP SPRUNG
At 9:02 PM, Julian Cross took the stage. The room fell silent as the podium microphone adjusted to his height.
"Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished members of the board," Julian began, his voice projecting gravitas and sorrow. "It is with a heavy, broken heart that I stand before you tonight. My brother Damian has been a titan of industry, a visionary, and my closest friend. But the human body has limits that even great will cannot overcome."
He signaled the technician, and a screen behind him displayed a doctored medical chart bearing Dr. Sean Vance’s signature.
"As of 4:00 AM this morning, Damian’s medical team informed me that his cardiac function has dropped below fifteen percent. He is currently under heavy sedation at his compound, unable to communicate or make legal decisions. Pursuant to Article 14 of the Cross Maritime Charter, I am formally moving to assume full executive authority—"
The heavy double doors at the back of the ballroom did not just open; they banged wide against the brass stops.
Every head in the room swung around.
Walking down the red-carpeted central aisle, tall, broad-shouldered, and entirely radiant with life, was Damian Cross.
A collective gasp swept through the three hundred guests. Champagne flutes froze halfway to lips. Several board members stumbled back against their tables.
Julian’s face went from pale to chalk-white. The microphone let out a high-pitched squeal as his hand trembled violently against the podium.
"Damian...?" Julian stammered, his voice carrying over the dead-silent ballroom. "You... you should be in intensive care..."
"I'm feeling remarkably well, Julian," Damian’s voice boomed across the hall without the aid of a microphone. Every word was sharp as a straight razor. "In fact, my heart hasn't felt this strong in ten years."
Damian reached the foot of the stage, Alina and Sophia stopping just behind him in the front row, flanked by the federal marshals.
"You seem surprised to see me walking, brother," Damian said, stepping up the three stairs onto the stage. "Were you expecting Dr. Vance’s cocktail to have done its work by now?"
"I... I don't know what you're talking about," Julian sputtered, backing away from the podium. "You're delusional! The medication—the strain on your brain—security, remove him! He's medically unfit!"
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None of the security guards moved. Every guard in the room was loyal to Marcus, and Marcus was standing at the edge of the stage with his arms crossed.
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