Chapter 9 - The Fall of the Syndicate
Three days later.
The boardroom of Costa Enterprises on the 50th floor was packed to capacity.
Seated around the massive mahogany conference table were the five senior directors of the syndicate, along with City Councilman Thomas Vance—the very man who had engineered the destruction of the Miller Shipping Warehouse fourteen years ago.
Councilman Vance smiled smoothly, adjusting his silk tie as Vincent walked into the room.
“Vincent,” Vance said, flashing a practiced, politician’s grin. “Rumors say there was quite a chaotic scene at the Plaza gala on Saturday night. I trust your security handled the disturbances?”
Vincent didn't smile. He walked to the head of the table, pulled out his executive chair, and sat down.
“Security handled it, Thomas,” Vincent said smoothly. “In fact, we recovered a very interesting piece of archived property.”
Vance’s smile flickered for a fraction of a second. “Property?”
Vincent didn't answer verbally. Instead, he reached into his breast pocket, pulled out a small black adapter, and plugged the flash drive into the boardroom’s central media console.
Instantly, the wall-mounted eighty-inch OLED screen flickered to life.
Documents, audio recordings, bank routing numbers, and signed contracts lit up the display in crisp, high-definition clarity.
The color drained entirely from Councilman Vance’s face. The other four directors shifted nervously in their seats, staring at the financial trails linking their offshore accounts directly to the 2012 waterfront arson.
“What... what is this?” Vance stammered, standing up from his chair. “This is unauthorized digital tampering! This is industrial sabotage!”
The heavy double doors of the boardroom swung open.
Four federal marshals, accompanied by two state prosecutors, stepped into the room, their badges gleaming under the modern recessed lighting.
“Councilman Thomas Vance,” the lead prosecutor announced, stepping forward with an arrest warrant in hand. “You are under arrest for conspiracy, corporate arson, extortion, and federal wire fraud.”
Chaos erupted in the boardroom. Two directors tried to run for the side exits, only to find Leo and three armed enforcers blocking the doorway.
Councilman Vance glared across the table at Vincent, his eyes filled with venom. “You think you win this, Costa? You think exposing us clears your name?”
“I don't need my name cleared, Thomas,” Vincent replied coldly. “Because the person who owns the evidence isn't me.”
The side door of the boardroom opened.
I walked in.
I wore a sharp, tailored charcoal-gray suit, my dark hair pinned back into its usual utilitarian bun, my left shoulder bandaged beneath the fabric. I carried a sleek leather briefcase, walking with the calm, absolute authority of someone who owned every square foot of the building.
I stopped beside Vincent’s chair, looking down at Councilman Vance with eyes completely devoid of fear.
May you like
Vance stared at me, recognition slowly dawning in his terrified eyes. “You... you’re Arthur Miller’s daughter.”
“My name is Mave Miller,” I said clearly, my voice echoing across the silent boardroom. “And I’ve been auditing your accounts for three years.”
