Chapter 7 - The Unseen Strings
While the custody battle was won, the undercurrent of the city grew turbulent. Jonathan Sterling was not a man to accept collateral damage quietly.
On Wednesday evening, Christian was in his downtown penthouse, reviewing market analytics, when his private phone buzzed with an unknown caller ID. He answered and placed it on speakerphone.
"You're meddling in matters far below your tax bracket, Vance," Sterling’s cultured, arrogant voice purred through the speaker.
Christian took a slow sip of black espresso. "If you paid your attack dogs better, Sterling, they wouldn't leave paper trails leading directly to your holding companies."
"Marcus was a cockroach, nothing more. You want his sister? Keep her. Make her your mistress, your housekeeper, your charity case—I don't care," Sterling spat, his tone hardening. "But pulling the thread on the Queens operation cost me fourteen million in bridge financing. Withdraw your bid on the Brooklyn container terminal by tomorrow noon, Christian. Or your generous philanthropy might cost you something irreplaceable."
Christian’s fingers tightened slightly against the ceramic cup. "Are you threatening me, Jonathan?"
"I’m reminding you that glass houses shatter easily when you throw stones at real players. Check your estate's perimeter cameras."
The line went dead.
Christian immediately patched through to Dominic at the Westchester estate. "Dominic. Report."
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"All clear inside, boss," Dominic replied instantly, but his breath sounded guarded. "Wait—motion sensor three on the south orchard just tripped. Two vehicles parked near the woods."
"Lock the shelter doors now," Christian commanded, his voice cold and terrifyingly calm. "I’m in the chopper. I'll be there in twelve minutes."
