Chapter 8 - Boardroom of Blood
Julian walked into the exclusive club with the slow, deliberate grace of a reaper entering a graveyard. He hadn't changed out of his clothes. His petrol-blue suit was crumpled, his collar unbuttoned, and the faint traces of Diego’s blood on his cuff were a grotesque contrast to the pristine gold-leaf walls of the Metropolitan Club.
Every billionaire and senator in the lounge instinctively stepped back, clearing a wide path. Mark’s confident smirk vanished, replaced by an unsettling cold sweat. Vanessa let out a tiny, trapped squeak and shrank into the shadows of the velvet booth.
"Julian," Mark said, forcing a nervous, performative smile as he stood up, smoothing his designer tie. "What an unexpected surprise. I heard Diego had a little accident. I was just talking to Vanessa about coming to visit—"
Julian did not answer with words.
He closed the distance between them in two massive strides, his right fist detonating against Mark’s jaw like a sledgehammer. The impact cracked through the room like a gunshot. Mark was violently thrown off his feet, crashing over the heavy mahogany coffee table, shattering crystal tumblers and spilling dark amber scotch across the oriental rug.
Gasps and shouts erupted around the lounge, but Julian’s operatives instantly stepped forward, blocking the club’s security staff with badges of high-level diplomatic immunity and private federal credentials.
"Nobody moves," Ronald announced in a booming, ironclad tone.
Mark groaned on the floor, spitting out two shattered teeth and a mouthful of dark blood. He looked up in absolute horror as Julian stepped over the debris, planting his polished Italian leather oxford firmly onto Mark’s right wrist—grinding the green-eyed snake tattoo directly into the broken shards of glass.
Mark shrieked in agony, the glass slicing through his skin, tearing the scales of the inked reptile apart.
"Forty million from my son's trust," Julian spoke, his tone chillingly conversational as he pressed harder, making Mark scream until his vocal cords tore. "A sixty-million-dollar death policy on a seven-year-old child. And you dared to put your filthy hands on him to hold him still while that monster struck him."
"Julian! Stop! It was her! It was all Vanessa!" Mark wept shamelessly, his face pressed against the blood-soaked carpet. "She seduced me! She orchestrated the accounts! I swear to God, Julian, she planned it all!"
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Vanessa’s jaw dropped in absolute shock. "You coward! You lying bastard!"
Julian didn't look at her. He leaned down, catching Mark by the neck and lifting him until the trembling COO was on his knees. "I didn't come here to kill you, Mark. Death is far too merciful for what you did to my boy."
