Chapter 8 - The Betrayal at Noon
The following afternoon, the sun broke weakly through the grey Manhattan smog, casting sharp, cold light across the glass floor of the Vane Tower penthouse auditorium.
Arthur stood at the head of the mahogany conference table, flanked by four armed federal marshals he had personally retained through his political connections. Seated around the thirty-foot table were nine board members, all dressed in pristine charcoal suits, their faces unreadable.
At the far end of the table sat Victor Vane—the thirty-eight-year-old CEO of the Syndicate, his slicked dark hair and cruel, aristocratic features radiating total confidence.
"You're out of your depth, Arthur," Victor said smoothly, swirling a glass of sparkling water. "The board voted three hours ago to freeze your assets due to mental incompetence. You have no standing here."
"I have the Rosewood Ledger, Victor," Arthur announced, his voice echoing off the glass walls. "And I have the secondary biological subject under federal protection."
Victor’s calm facade cracked for a fraction of a second. He set his glass down on the table with a sharp, heavy clack.
"You brought the girl to the city?" Victor asked, his eyes narrowing into slits.
"I brought the truth," Arthur countered, gesturing to the marshals. "Federal agents are raiding your lab facility in upstate New York as we speak. Julianna Rosewood is being freed."
Victor didn't panic. Instead, a slow, sickening smile spread across his face. He reached under the table and pressed a small silver button.
"You always were too trusting, Arthur," Victor murmured.
May you like
The heavy oak doors of the boardroom swung open. Stepping into the room, flanked by two armed guards, was Clara—the waitress from L’Étoile Dorée. But she wasn't wearing an apron. She wore a sleek, white tactical uniform, and in her right hand, she held a remote detonator.
"The federal marshals you hired?" Victor chuckled softly. "Check their badges, old man."
