Chapter 7 - The Meeting at the Tower
By 2:00 AM, the rain storm had passed over Phoenix, leaving the city streets wet and glistening under the neon lights.
In the penthouse suite of the luxury Royal Palms Tower downtown, Victor Vance stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, sipping a glass of twenty-year-old scotch. At fifty-five, the New York syndicate leader looked distinguished in a tailored grey suit, though his sharp, manipulative eyes revealed his ruthless nature.
The private elevator doors chimed and opened.
Caleb Ross stumbled into the penthouse, soaking wet, his navy suit torn at the elbow, his breathing ragged and panicked.
"Victor!" Caleb gasped, leaning against the glass table. "It’s over! Damon knows everything! He knows about Mateo, he knows about the Phoenix manifests, he knows about Account 409!"
Victor Vance didn't turn around immediately. He took another slow sip of his scotch before looking back at his frantic associate with cold contempt.
"You panicked, Caleb," Victor said smoothly. "I told you to quietly delete the server logs. Instead, you got caught by a three-year-old child with an access card."
"It was a setup!" Caleb yelled, wiping cold sweat from his face. "The kid pointed right at me! Damon locked down the estate! I had to use your assassin to break out!"
"And you led Damon’s men right to my doorstep," Victor added, his voice dropping into a dangerous register.
Caleb froze. "What? No! I swept my car for trackers before I left the estate!"
"You don't need a electronic tracker to follow a desperate man, Caleb," a deep, smooth voice echoed from the private elevator corridor.
Caleb and Victor spun around.
Damon Reyes stepped out of the shadow of the elevator foyer, dressed in a pristine black three-piece suit, his hands resting casually in his trouser pockets. Standing behind him were Marcus Vale and four broad-shouldered enforcers clad in dark tactical gear.
Victor Vance set his scotch glass down on the table with a heavy clatter, his polished mask cracking. "Damon... how did you get past my lobby security?"
"Your lobby security works for my logistics company, Victor," Damon replied calmly, walking slowly into the penthouse. "You forgot whose city you were standing in."
Caleb backed up against the glass window, looking frantically between the two syndicate bosses. "Damon... please... I can testify against Victor! I have all his offshore routing numbers saved on my phone!"
Victor pulled a sleek silver revolver from his suit pocket, aiming it directly at Caleb’s chest. "Shut up, you sniveling coward!"
Before Victor could pull the trigger, Marcus Vale drew his sidearm with lightning speed, firing a single precise shot that struck the barrel of Victor’s weapon, knocking the silver revolver out of his hand and sending it spinning across the marble floor.
Victor doubled over, gripping his bruised hand, his face pale with shock.
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Damon walked up to Victor Vance, standing over the older man like an immovable wall of stone.
"Twenty years we worked together, Victor," Damon said, his low voice laced with cold fury. "And you murdered my harbor manager and tried to terrorize a mother and her child just to line your pockets with stolen cargo."
