Chapter 8 - RETRIBUTION
"Don't bother looking for Dr. Vance," Damian continued, his voice calm, ringing with absolute authority. "He was arrested at three this morning by the Federal Bureau of Investigation. He sang like a canary, Julian. He gave them the account numbers in Grand Cayman. He gave them the encrypted texts detailing the dose of aconitine to be slipped into my morning heart medicine."
Murmurs of shock and horror erupted across the ballroom. Board members looked at Julian in disgust, taking rapid steps away from the stage.
"That's a lie!" Julian shouted, sweat pouring down his temples. "You have no proof! You're fabricating this to push me out of the company!"
Damian turned toward the massive digital presentation screen behind the podium. He took a small remote from his pocket and pressed it.
The screen flickered. The fake medical chart vanished, replaced by high-definition surveillance footage:
Julian Cross, standing in the estate pantry at 5:12 PM, unscrewing a duplicate prescription bottle and switching the capsules before re-sealing it with a heat gun.
Below the video, the audio from Dr. Vance’s wiretap played through the ballroom’s sound system:
*“Make sure the maid and the girl are eliminated before the board meeting. If the kid tells anyone what she saw, Julian said we won't get a penny of the fifty million.”*
The ballroom was paralyzed.
Julian’s knees shook. He looked around the room, hunting for an exit, but two federal marshals were already stepping onto the stage, handcuffs glinting in the stage lights.
"You were going to murder a six-year-old child to hide your theft," Damian whispered, leaning close so only Julian could hear. "You took everything my father gave you, and you turned it into poison."
"Damian, please," Julian broke, tears of terror leaking down his face. "We’re brothers. Blood didn't make us family, loyalty did—"
"Loyalty?" Damian smiled, cold and merciless. "You never had any. Take him out."
The federal marshals grabbed Julian, twisting his arms behind his back and snapping the steel cuffs onto his wrists. Julian screamed and cursed as he was dragged down the center aisle, past the horrified elite of New York, and thrown into a waiting elevator.
Damian walked back to the podium, adjusted the microphone, and looked out over the stunned room.
"The emergency vote is canceled," Damian declared smoothly. "Cross Maritime remains in full, healthy operation. Enjoy the champagne."
May you like
The room burst into thunderous, stunned applause.
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