Chapter 6 - The Trap is Set
The following evening, the main dining room of the Lake Forest estate was bathed in the warm, elegant glow of silver candelabras.
At the center of the massive mahogany table sat Seth Basil, his expression carefully neutral as he cut into a rare steak. To his left sat Angelo Ross, smiling brightly as he recounted a recent business negotiation with the dockworkers' union. To his right sat Grant Mercer, looking pale, tired, and visibly stressed, his hands trembling slightly as he reached for his water glass.
And at the foot of the table sat Fiona.
She wore a deep crimson velvet gown that commanded the room, her shoulders back, her presence impossible to ignore. She hadn't said a word during the first three courses, but she hadn't missed a single micro-expression around the table.
"So," Angelo said smoothly, dabbing his mouth with a linen napkin before looking directly at Seth. "Regarding the Racine warehouse deficit, Boss, I’m afraid Grant’s latest reconciliation doesn't add up. I’m scheduling an emergency audit for tomorrow morning. Frankly, we need to consider freezing Grant’s accounts until we locate the missing fifty thousand dollars."
Grant Mercer choked on his water, coughing violently. "Seth, I swear to God, my books are clean! I don't know what Angelo is looking at, but those numbers are fabricated—"
"That's enough, Grant," Seth interrupted, his voice calm, flat, and chillingly devoid of emotion.
Angelo’s eyes flashed with a brief, victorious gleam. He lowered his head, feigning sympathy. "It’s a tragedy, Boss. Loyalty is hard to find these days."
"It certainly is, Angelo," Seth agreed smoothly. He set his knife and fork down on his plate with a soft clink that silenced the entire room.
Seth lifted his crystal glass of bourbon, swirling it slowly. "In fact, loyalty has been on my mind quite a bit lately. Especially when I realized that someone in my inner circle has been setting up dummy offshore accounts in Milwaukee to siphon my capital."
Angelo’s smile froze for a fraction of a second. He recovered quickly, laughing nervously. "Good thing we caught it early, Boss. Who do you think—"
"I didn't say we caught an unknown thief, Angelo," Seth cut him off, his gray eyes locking onto his chief adviser with the terrifying stillness of a loaded gun. "I said someone created them. And thanks to a very thorough audit conducted last night... we traced the primary encryption key directly to a private laptop registered under a shell corporation."
Angelo’s face drained of color. His hand trembled as he set his wine glass down, the red liquid sloshing against the rim. "Boss... what are you implying?"
Seth didn't answer. Instead, he turned his head slowly toward the foot of the table. "Fiona, darling. Why don't you tell our guests whose name is on the secondary shell corporation?"
All eyes at the table snapped toward Fiona.
Helen Gable, standing near the sideboard with a tray of coffee cups, stopped breathing.
Fiona picked up her napkin, dabbed her lips slowly, and looked directly at Angelo.
"The shell corporation is registered to an offshore trust named A. Ross Holdings," Fiona said, her voice cutting through the silent room like crystal glass. "And the digital signature authorizing the transfer of funds out of Racine matches the private terminal in your second-floor office, Angelo."
Angelo stood up so fast his chair screeched loudly against the polished floorboards. "This is a setup! That fat bitch doesn't know anything about finance—she's a gambler's daughter who spends her days hiding in her room!"
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Before Angelo could take another step toward the door, two armed security guards stepped out from the shadows of the velvet drapes, their weapons instantly leveled at his chest.
Victor Dane stepped forward from the hallway, his face like stone, holding a pair of heavy steel zip-ties.
