Chapter 6 - The Midnight Meeting
By 11:00 PM, a sleek black SUV pulled into the circular driveway of my estate.
Vincent Vance—my younger brother and former head of corporate security for an international defense contractor—stepped out of the vehicle. He was built like a brick wall, wearing a dark leather jacket, his eyes sharp and analytical as he scanned the perimeter of my home.
Behind him were three former military contractors he employed for high-risk corporate security assignments.
Vincent walked into my study, taking off his gloves, looking at Brandon sitting in the corner, then at me behind the desk.
"I heard about Harrison," Vincent said, pulling up a chair. "The police are booking him right now at the central precinct. But word spreads fast. My contacts in federal intelligence say Harrison was feeding information to overseas syndicates for over two years."
"He leveraged Brandon," I said flatly, pointing to my son. "Brandon owes one point four million to Chen's organization."
Vincent slowly turned his head to look at his nephew. His expression was cold enough to freeze water.
"You idiot," Vincent said quietly to Brandon. "Do you have any idea who Chen is? He doesn't run a friendly poker room. He's a human trafficker and a money launderer. You gave him access to our family name?"
Brandon shrank further into his chair, unable to speak.
"What's the play, Julian?" Vincent asked, turning back to me. "Do we pay them off?"
"No," I replied instantly. "If I pay Chen one point four million, he will keep coming back for more. He will use those forged collateral documents to bleed Vance Enterprises dry until there's nothing left."
"Then what do you want to do?"
"I want to meet Chen tonight," I declared, standing up. "Before Harrison's arrest hits the morning news. While Chen still thinks he holds all the cards."
Vincent smiled—a grim, dangerous smile that showed his sharp teeth. "Now you're talking like a Vance again. I'll arrange the meeting. But we don't go to Chinatown on his terms. We bring him here."
"Here?" Brandon gasped, sitting up in terror. "Dad, no! You can't bring them to the house!"
"Shut up, Brandon," Vincent barked without looking at him. "You lost your right to speak three hours ago."
Vincent pulled out his satellite phone, dialed a secure number, and held it to his ear. "Chen. This is Vincent Vance... Yes, Julian's brother... We have the one point four million. But my brother doesn't do business in back-alley tea houses. You bring the original promissory notes and the collateral documents to the Vance Estate in thirty minutes, or the deal is off, and we release the security footage of your collectors entering our private club to federal authorities."
Vincent hung up without waiting for an answer.
"Will he come?" I asked.
"Chen is greedy," Vincent said, checking the sidearm holstered inside his jacket. "He thinks he's dealing with a soft billionaire and a foolish kid. He won't be able to resist taking a million dollars in cash directly from your hands."
I turned to my desk, pulled out a metallic briefcase, and opened it. Inside were stacks of bound hundred-dollar bills totaling two hundred thousand dollars—the emergency liquid cash I kept in my personal safe. On top of the money, I placed a sleek silver flash drive containing the complete digital confession Harrison had unknowingly made on my office recording system before his arrest.
"Vincent," I said softly. "Make sure your men are positioned around the foyer."
"They're already in place," Vincent replied smoothly.
May you like
I looked over at Brandon, whose body was shaking violently with fear.
"Brandon," I said, my voice cold as ice. "You are going to stand beside me in that foyer. You are going to look Chen in the eye, and you are going to watch how real men fix the disasters created by boys."
