Chapter 5 - The War in the Office
By 9:00 AM the following morning, my entire life had shifted on its axis.
I stood in the corner of Damon's sprawling corner office on the forty-fifth floor of Vance Tower on Wall Street. I was wearing a sharp cream-colored pencil skirt, a matching silk blouse, and black leather heels—all provided by Damon's personal stylist that morning.
On the dark marble desk sat three open laptops, displaying financial ledgers, corporate registries, and encrypted bank accounts.
Damon sat in his high-backed leather chair, a phone pressed to his ear, listening intently while two senior lawyers stood across from him with manila folders.
"...The foreclosure notice on Holloway's house was served twenty minutes ago," one lawyer reported. "His partnership at Holloway and Vance is being dissolved by noon due to moral turpitude clauses in their bylaws."
Damon hung up the phone and looked up at me. "Your mother just left the house in a taxi. My men picked her up at the corner of 72nd Street. She's currently on a private flight to my family's estate in Vermont, completely isolated from Grant."
A massive weight lifted off my chest, making me let out a long, shuddering breath. "Thank you... thank you, Damon."
"Don't thank me yet," Damon grunted, opening a leather dossier on his desk. "Grant just realized he's lost his leverage, his house, and his wife. He's desperate. And a desperate coward with debts to the Jersey mob is extremely dangerous."
Suddenly, the frosted glass door of Damon's private office slammed open!
Grant Holloway rushed into the room, his hair disheveled, his expensive suit wrinkled, his face flushed red with wild, unadulterated fury! Two security guards were right behind him, trying to grab his arms!
"Vance!" Grant roared, pointing a shaking finger at Damon. "You ruined me! You took my firm, you seized my house, and you stole my wife!"
Damon didn't even stand up. He casually closed his dossier, leaned back in his leather chair, and motioned for the two security guards to stand down.
"You ruined yourself, Grant," Damon said coldly. "The moment you used Diane's name to hide six hundred thousand dollars in Jersey bribe money, your life was forfeit."
Grant's wild eyes suddenly darted across the room, landing squarely on me.
"You!" Grant spat, taking three fast, aggressive strides toward my desk. "You little snake! You told him about the floor safe! I gave you a roof over your head for twelve years, you ungrateful little bitch!"
He raised his hand—the same hand that had squeezed my wrist the night before—and lunged toward me!
Before Grant's fingers could even come close to my skin, Damon moved with terrifying, lightning speed!
Damon vaulted over his massive marble desk, grabbed Grant by the throat with one broad hand, and slammed him face-first against the reinforced glass window overlooking Wall Street!
THUD!
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The glass groaned under the impact. Grant let out a choked, terrified squeal as Damon pinned him against the pane forty-five stories above the pavement, his large hand tightening around Grant's neck until Grant's feet were barely touching the floor!
"I told you last night, Grant," Damon growled, his voice dropping into a low, murderous roar that vibrated through the entire office. "If you ever raise a hand to her again... I will take your fingers."
