Chapter 11 - The Empire Strikes Back
In Manhattan, the executive boardroom of Vance Global Enterprises was plunged into emergency session at four o'clock in the morning.
Julian Vance sat at the head of the seventy-foot glass conference table. His right arm was wrapped in a rigid black splint, his tailored suit replaced by a dark cashmere turtleneck that barely concealed the bruises along his neck. Around the table sat twelve top criminal defense attorneys, the firm’s chief crisis PR strategist, and Judge Thomas Mercer, who looked pale, sweaty, and terrified.
"She has Marcus Kane," Julian said, his voice a low, raspy growl. "And she has the ledger Oliver copied."
Judge Mercer slammed his fist on the table, his jowls trembling. "You told me that ledger was encrypted with military-grade biometrics! If the Department of Justice gets their hands on the Cayman routing numbers, I am going to a federal penitentiary for twenty-five years, Julian!"
Julian slowly turned his head toward the corrupt judge. The sheer venom in Julian’s gaze made the older man shrink back into his leather chair.
"You will go to prison only if Elena Vance survives to present that evidence in a federal court," Julian said quietly.
The entire boardroom fell dead silent. Even the high-priced defense attorneys averted their eyes, pretending they hadn't heard the clear implication of Julian’s words.
"Mr. Vance," the lead attorney cleared his throat nervously. "The public narrative is currently on our side. If we push the federal task force to conduct a hard tactical raid on their location, any... collateral damage can be attributed to Kane’s armed resistance."
"I don't care about collateral damage to Kane or Elena," Julian replied coldly. "I want the boys recovered. Intact. Lily as well. As for Elena... she has demonstrated that she is an existential threat to this family and to this corporation. Handle it."
Julian stood up, walking toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the awakening city. Down in the streets, delivery trucks were starting their routes, oblivious to the war being waged in the penthouses above them.
His phone buzzed on the glass table. It was an unlisted, encrypted satellite call.
Julian picked it up and held it to his ear. "Speak."
"Julian," Elena’s voice came through the receiver, crystal clear, entirely calm, and utterly devoid of fear.
Julian’s jaw tightened. "Elena. If you surrender the children within the hour, my lawyers will allow you to plead to a reduced mental impairment charge. You will spend five years in a comfortable private facility instead of a maximum-security prison."
"Still trying to negotiate from a burning building, Julian?" Elena asked with a soft, bitter laugh. "I’m looking at the Mercer trust documents right now. Account number 994-Delta-Swiss. Three point two million dollars transferred on June fourteenth, the exact day Judge Mercer signed the emergency custody injunction."
Julian's knuckles turned white on the phone. "That evidence is inadmissible. It was stolen during an armed robbery on a public bridge."
"It won't be presented in Mercer’s corrupt state court, Julian," Elena replied. "At nine o'clock this morning, Marcus is delivering certified physical copies to the United States Attorney for the Southern District of New York and the Special Prosecutions Bureau of the FBI."
"You'll never make it into that federal building," Julian hissed. "Every federal marshal and state trooper is hunting you."
"Maybe," Elena whispered. "Or maybe you should look out your office window right now."
May you like
Julian frowned, leaning closer to the glass.
Down on the street, eighty floors below, three massive broadcast satellite trucks from CNN, the New York Times, and the Associated Press had pulled directly onto the sidewalk in front of Vance Tower, deploying their microwave broadcast towers into the morning sky.
