Chapter 9 - the court of judgment
At six o'clock that evening, the heavy oak doors of the Romano penthouse library opened once again.
Augustus sat in the dark behind his mahogany desk, lit only by a single green banker's lamp and the glowing lights of the Manhattan skyline behind him.
Damian and Victoria walked in slowly. The arrogance that had defined them twenty-four hours ago was completely gone. Victoria wore a simple beige trench coat over a high-necked black dress, her diamond jewelry replaced by stark simplicity. Damian walked beside her, his head lowered, his posture rigid with anxiety.
They stood before the desk, separated from Augustus by three feet of polished wood.
Augustus did not offer them a seat. He didn't even look up immediately, continuing to sign a stack of legal documents with his gold fountain pen.
The silence in the room was suffocating. Every second felt like an eternity as Damian waited for the old man to speak.
Finally, Augustus set the pen down. He looked up, his pale blue eyes cutting through the dim light, fixing onto Damian first, then moving slowly to Victoria.
"You brought your wife," Augustus said softly.
"Augustus..." Damian began, his voice raspy. "We... we came to apologize. We didn't understand. I didn't know the history of the foundation. My father never told me—"
"Your father knew," Augustus interrupted quietly. "Your father was a smart man. He knew that power is not about who wears the thickest watch or who sits at the head of the dinner table. Power is about who holds the leash when the dogs start barking."
Damian bowed his head, his hands clenching into fists at his sides. "I was blind. I let ambition cloud my judgment. Please... spare the family business. Take my shares. Take my titles. Just leave us enough to leave the city."
Victoria took a hesitant step forward, her lips trembling, her rosy skin pale under the warm desk lamp. "Mr. Romano... I was wrong. I insulted you. I didn't know who you were."
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Augustus looked at Victoria for a long moment. The line where his hand had struck her cheek was completely gone, but the memory of her public arrogance still lingered in the air.
"You knew who I was, Victoria," Augustus said gently, almost softly. "You thought I was weak. That is the only crime you committed. You thought old age meant death, and you thought kindness was vulnerability."
