Chapter 7 - The War Room
We didn't sleep that night.
By three in the morning, we were back in the penthouse suite at the Continental Hotel. The grand glass dining table had been transformed into a war room, covered in financial printouts, property deeds, and offshore transaction records.
I sat in a plush armchair, wearing one of Larkin's heavy black silk robes folded over my dress, a mug of steaming black coffee in my hands.
Larkin stood near the window, his white shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, reviewing the decrypted files we had pulled from Thomas’s phone before his arrest.
"Julian Vance owns thirty percent of the city’s concrete production," Larkin said, pointing to a map spread across the table. "He’s been using that supply chain to bribe port authorities and smuggle unregistered weapons through dock four."
"And Thomas gave him the financial backdoors to hide those shipments inside your legitimate corporate shipping invoices," I added, setting my coffee down. "If federal agents had raided dock four next week, your name would have been on the bills of lading, Larkin. Not Julian’s."
Larkin turned to look at me, his jaw set firm. "Julian was setting me up for a federal indictment. He wanted me out of the picture so he could take over the Manhattan territory."
"Then we strike first," I said simply.
Larkin walked over to the table, leaning his hands on the mahogany surface, looking down at me with an intrigued expression. "Strike how? Julian’s military force is twice the size of mine. A street war would draw too much attention from the FBI."
"We don't use guns," I smiled, a dark, brilliant spark lighting up my eyes. "We use accounting."
Larkin raised an eyebrow. "Go on."
"Julian’s entire empire relies on a single master credit facility based out of a private bank in Zurich," I explained, pulling up a secondary spreadsheet on my laptop and spinning it toward him. "To keep his concrete factories operating, he leverages those assets every thirty days. His next liquidity verification is tomorrow at five PM."
Larkin scanned the numbers, his eyes widening slightly as he realized what I was showing him.
"If that liquidity verification fails..." Larkin murmured.
"His creditors automatically seize his machinery, his docks are frozen by customs, and his own enforcers won't get paid their weekly cash bonuses," I concluded. "His entire syndicate collapses from the inside out in less than twenty-four hours without a single bullet being fired."
Larkin stared at the screen, then looked up at me, a low laugh rising in his throat.
"Penelope," he said, stepping around the table and pulling me up from my chair into his arms. "You are absolute poetry."
"Can we freeze the account in time?" I asked, looking into his eyes.
"Not alone," Larkin said softly, his hands resting gently on my waist. "We need the authorization key from Viktor Vane. He controls the regional clearinghouse."
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"Viktor hates Julian," I noted. "But he’s greedy."
"Then we offer him a seat at the main table," Larkin said. He leaned down, pressing a gentle kiss to my forehead. "Get some rest, Penelope. Tomorrow afternoon, we destroy Julian Vance."
