Chapter 6 - The Fall of Voss Logistics
The morning after the wedding, the news broke across the defense and financial sectors with the force of a hurricane.
General Vance had filed an official memorandum with the Department of Defense procurement board at seven in the morning, citing "ethical concerns and structural instability" regarding Voss Global Logistics. By nine o'clock, three major government shipping tenders worth over four hundred million dollars were officially revoked.
I sat in the parlor of the St. Aurelia’s presidential suite—booked for me at six a.m. by the Chief of Naval Operations the moment he heard I was in town—drinking fresh black coffee while scanning the financial pages on my tablet.
VOSS LOGISTICS SHARES PLUMMET 40% FOLLOWING DEFENSE CONTRACT CANCELLATION. PATRIARCH CONRAD VOSS REPLACED AS CEO IN EMERGENCY BOARD MEETING.
There was a quiet knock on the heavy oak door.
“Come,” I called out.
The door swung open, and Damian stepped into the suite.
He didn't look like the confident, arrogant heir who had snickered on the porch twenty-one years ago. His tie was loose, his eyes were bloodshot from a lack of sleep, and his hands were shaking as he clutching a thick leather folder against his chest.
“Elise,” he breathed out, stopping near the foyer threshold, as if he were afraid to step onto the carpet.
“Damian,” I said, setting my teacup down. “You’re off base.”
“Please, Elise,” Damian dropped his leather folder onto the coffee table, collapsing into the armchair across from me, burying his face in his hands. “You have to stop this. The board stripped Dad of his CEO title two hours ago. They’re launching an internal investigation into our accounting books. The banks are calling in our loans!”
“I didn't do that, Damian,” I replied calmly. “Your poor management and bad ethics did that. I simply told the truth.”
“You killed us!” Damian screamed, pulling his hands away from his face, his eyes wild with terror. “One word from you to General Vance destroyed twenty years of work! Dad is sitting in his study with a bottle of gin, staring at the wall! He’s seventy-five years old, Elise! You’re going to leave him bankrupt?!”
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees, staring into my brother’s eyes with a cold, piercing clarity that made him flinch.
“When I was nineteen, Damian,” I said, my voice dropping into a low, terrifying register, “you stood on the stairs and laughed while Dad threw my life into the mud. You didn't ask where I was going to sleep. You didn't ask if I had food. You didn't care if I died in an alley, as long as you got a bigger share of the inheritance.”
Damian swallowed hard, his throat dry. “I was young... I was stupid...”
“You were twenty-two,” I corrected him instantly. “You were old enough to know right from wrong. For twenty-one years, you lived like a king off money you didn't earn, pretending you were superior to a sister who was sleeping on the steel deck of a frigate in the middle of a typhoon.”
I stood up from my chair. At five-foot-eight, erect and rigid, I towered over him in the quiet room.
“I won't save your company, Damian,” I said clearly. “And I won't call Marcus Vance to undo the cancellation. You and Conrad wanted to teach me what I was worth twenty-one years ago. Now, the market is going to teach you what you are worth.”
Damian sat paralyzed in the chair. He looked at me, realizing with absolute, agonizing horror that there was no leverage, no emotion, and no guilt left in me for him to manipulate.
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“Get out of my room, Damian,” I commanded softly.
He stood up slowly, picked up his useless folder of financial reports, and walked out the door, his boots dragging like iron shoes against the floor.
