Chapter 6 - The Council of Traitors
Downtown, the forty-second-floor boardroom of Holmes Global Enterprises was pitch black except for the amber glow of city lights filtering through floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Viktor Vance sat at the head of the massive boardroom table, swirling a glass of expensive bourbon. Marcus stood by the window, staring out at the rain.
“The extraction team should have reported back ten minutes ago,” Marcus muttered, checking his diamond-encrusted watch for the third time. “If they botched the clean-up at the safehouse, Gabriel is going to trace those communications right back to our private servers.”
“Relax,” Viktor grunted, taking a slow sip. “Those men are ghosts. They don't use company comms. By sunrise, Gabriel will find an empty cellar, a cold bed, and nothing else. The nurse and the kid will be buried in a shallow grave three counties away, and we will present the board with a seamless transition of power.”
Suddenly, the heavy oak double doors of the boardroom didn't just open—they were blown inward off their hinges with a tremendous crash.
Viktor leaped to his feet, instantly drawing his sidearm, while Marcus stumbled backward into the glass window, his face draining of all color.
Stepping through the shattered doorway was Gabriel Holmes.
He wasn't wearing his usual pristine suit jacket; his white shirt was stained with dust and gunpowder residue, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his heavily tattooed forearms. Behind him walked four elite enforcers, holding weapons at the ready, and trailing slightly behind them was Chalice, holding a sleeping Douglas safely swaddled in pink.
“Gabriel,” Viktor managed to say, forcing a tight, nervous smile as he lowered his weapon an inch. “Thank God. We heard there was an emergency security breach downstairs—we were just organizing a rescue response—”
“Save your breath, Viktor,” Gabriel interrupted, his voice cutting through the cavernous room like a razor blade.
Gabriel walked slowly toward the head of the table, his eyes fixed on his chief security officer with murder in his gaze.
“Your men down in the cellar sent me a very clear message,” Gabriel continued, stopping ten feet from the desk. “They conveyed your regards. Unfortunately for you, they forgot to survive the delivery.”
Marcus Vance’s knees buckled slightly. He gripped the edge of the window frame to stay upright. “Gabriel, listen to reason. Viktor is just trying to protect the corporate assets—with Antonio gone, the board needed immediate containment—”
“Containment?” Gabriel spun around, pointing a finger at Marcus. “You sold out my brother to a rival cartel. You orchestrated an ambush on the expressway just to destabilize the family trust and carve up the assets between you and the board.”
“You have no proof!” Viktor snarled, raising his pistol. “It’s your word against ours! The board will never back a rogue execution!”
Before Viktor’s finger could squeeze the trigger, the boardroom doors swung open again.
Stepping into the light was the entirety of the Holmes Family Syndicate Board of Directors—surrounded and escorted by Gabriel’s loyal loyalists. At the front of the group walked senior board member Arthur Sterling, holding a heavy leather-bound ledger.
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“The proof isn't in his word, Viktor,” Arthur Sterling said coldly, stepping forward and placing the ledger onto the mahogany desk. “It’s in the internal wire transfers routed through offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands—accounts registered directly under Marcus and Viktor Vance’s shell companies.”
Viktor stared at the ledger, his face turning pale. The foundation of his entire treasonous plot had just crumbled beneath his feet.
