Chapter 4 - Blood and Arrogance
The beams of three high-intensity tactical flashlights cut through the gloom of the Sovereign Penthouse, blinding Ethan and Susan. Ethan instinctively stepped forward, placing his body between the blinding lights and the frail old man sitting calmly by the desk.
"Stand down, boy," a smooth, cultured voice resonated from the shadows behind the tactical guards.
A tall man stepped into the ambient glow of the city lights. He was impeccably groomed, wearing a double-breasted charcoal cashmere coat over an bespoke tailored suit. His features were an arrogant, younger reflection of Arthur’s—sharp jaw, aristocratic nose, and cold, calculating grey eyes. It was Marcus Harrison, Arthur’s nephew and the vice chairman of the conglomerate.
Behind Marcus stood Robert, clutching an ice pack against his bruised shoulder, a venomous smile returning to his thin lips.
"I told you, Marcus," Robert hissed, his voice trembling with malicious satisfaction. "The old bastard didn't even leave the property. He thought he could play king from the clouds."
Arthur didn't rise. He remained seated behind the expansive desk, the green glow of his analog terminal reflecting softly in his weathered irises. "You broke the speed limit getting here, Marcus. Impatience will always be your fatal flaw."
Marcus smiled, stepping past his armed escorts. He pulled a pair of gold-rimmed glasses from his pocket and slid them onto his nose, surveying the darkened penthouse with casual disdain.
"You smell like stale grease and wet gravel, Uncle," Marcus said smoothly, resting his leather-gloved hands on the edge of the mahogany desk. "Is this the great Arthur Harrison? Wandering the slums, playing the eccentric recluse while the stock market prepares to cannibalize your life’s work?"
"The slums teach you what men are made of," Arthur answered evenly. "Something you never learned in your Swiss boarding schools."
"What they taught me was efficiency," Marcus countered. He reached into his coat and produced a thick, embossed document, tossing it onto the marble surface with a dismissive slap. "The board held an emergency quorum two hours ago. By unanimous vote of the present directors, you have been declared medically unfit to execute your fiduciary duties. This document formally grants me power of attorney over all Harrison Trusts."
Susan stepped forward, her voice trembling with rage. "A quorum requires Arthur's direct notification, Marcus! You held an illegal shadow vote. No court in this country will uphold this fraud!"
"By the time the courts open on Monday morning, Susan, the assets will already be restructured," Marcus said, his voice dropping into a chilling, absolute certainty. "The retail branches will be liquidated. The European holdings sold off. And our private equity partners will absorb the remaining shares."
"You're liquidating the workers' pensions," Ethan blurted out, unable to keep silent. "The secondary trust holds the retirement funds for over forty thousand hotel staff members across fifteen countries!"
Marcus turned his head slowly, looking at Ethan as if noticing an annoying insect on his sleeve. "Who let the bellhop speak? Robert, why is this menial still drawing breath in my building?"
"I fired him downstairs, sir," Robert spat eagerly. "He thinks he's the new manager."
"Fascinating," Marcus chuckled coldly. He turned his attention back to Arthur, leaning forward until his face was inches from his uncle’s. "Sign the transfer, Arthur. You keep the estate in Edinburgh. You keep your medical trust. Refuse, and these gentlemen from Aegis will escort you to an assisted living facility in upstate New York where you will spend the rest of your days sedated and forgotten."
Arthur looked at the document. Then, he looked up at his nephew, his eyes devoid of fear, sorrow, or hesitation.
"You always were remarkably shortsighted, Marcus," Arthur whispered.
May you like
He reached into his worn coat pocket, pulled out a tarnished gold pocket watch, and clicked the latch open. The mechanical ticking was unnervingly loud in the quiet room.
"It is precisely ten past midnight," Arthur murmured. "Look behind you."
