Chapter 6 - the fracture in the ivory tower
By midnight, the banquet had dissolved into a quiet, cautious exodus. Guests departed in hushed tones, avoiding eye contact with Damian and Victoria as they hurried to their waiting luxury sedans.
In the private top-floor suite of the Bellevue Estate, Victoria paced back and forth across the plush velvet carpet, her red heels digging deep into the fabric. The red mark on her cheek had turned into a faint, rosy shadow, but her pride was shattered into pieces.
"He's an old man, Damian!" Victoria snapped, turning around to face her husband, who sat on the edge of a leather sofa staring blankly at the glass of bourbon in his hand. "He's seventy-six! He belongs in a nursing home, not ruling a empire! Why did Vance bow to him? Why did Marcus bow? We own forty percent of the voting shares in the holding company!"
Damian took a slow, heavy drink, his face grim. "We own forty percent of the front company, Victoria. We don't own the debt. We don't own the property deeds. And clearly, we don't own the loyalty of the men who hold the real power."
"Then we take it!" she hissed, leaning over him, her diamond earrings swaying. "We have the lawyers. We have the political connections in Albany and Washington. If Augustus thinks he can slap me in front of the entire eastern syndicate and get away with it, he's mistaken. I will strip him of every dime he has left."
Damian looked up at her, his dark eyes filled with a rare, genuine fear. "You don't get it, do you? He didn't just walk out of that chair tonight because he was mad at you. He let us play king and queen for five years because it suited him. He let us build the front so he could sit back in peace."
"And now?" Victoria asked, her chest heaving.
"And now," Damian whispered, "we just reminded him why he built the house in the first place."
Before Victoria could respond, Damian’s encrypted phone buzzed on the glass coffee table.
He picked it up, pressing it to his ear. "Speak."
The voice on the other end belonged to his chief financial officer, trembling so hard the words were barely intelligible. "Mr. Crane... it’s gone. All of it."
Damian stiffened. "What are you talking about?"
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"The offshore holding accounts in Grand Cayman. The private equity shares in Manhattan. The trust accounts for the Crane family estate... they were liquidated twenty minutes ago. Authorized by a master signatory protocol established in 1978."
Damian’s phone slid through his fingers, crashing onto the carpet.
