Chapter 6 - The Boardroom Sharks
The mahogany double doors of the estate’s grand conference room were thrown open at 10:00 AM sharp.
The room was built for intimidation. Dark wood paneling, a massive twelve-seat marble conference table, and tall windows overlooking the gray, churning Atlantic. Seated around the table were the four senior lieutenants of the Costa organization—men who controlled the docks, the financial portfolios, the security details, and the political bribes that kept the empire afloat.
They wore bespoke Italian suits, expensive watches, and the smug, predatory expressions of men who had already divided up the spoils.
At the head of the table sat an empty leather chair.
“He’s not coming,” Marcus Vance said, swirling a glass of scotch he had poured from the sidebar. Marcus was Vincent’s senior vice-president of operations—a slick, silver-haired man in his late forties with cold blue eyes and a permanent smirk. “Dr. Harrison called my cell at dawn. Vincent’s metabolic crash is absolute. The end is a matter of hours. We need to vote on the interim leadership structure before the shipping manifests clear customs on Monday.”
Across the table, Dominic, the head of security, nodded grimly. “The board in Zurich has already drafted the asset freeze protocols. If Vincent passes today, the transition needs to be seamless. No panic in the streets, no disruption at the ports.”
They spoke of their boss’s impending death the way corporate executives discuss a hostile takeover. Cold, clinical, and completely devoid of human emotion.
Standing quietly in the shadows near the back corner of the room, dressed in a sharp, tailored black blazer and crisp white blouse that Dante had had delivered from Worth Avenue, stood Elena.
Her hands were clasped in front of her. Her face was a mask of calm. But inside, her stomach was tied in knots.
Marcus Vance glanced back toward the corner, his lip curling in open disgust as he spotted her. “What is she doing here? Why is the maid standing in the executive boardroom? Did someone forget to lock the service quarters?”
Before anyone could answer, the heavy double doors at the end of the room swung open with a sharp, echoing bang.
Total silence fell over the table.
Walking into the room, moving with a slow, deliberate, predator’s stride, was Vincent Costa.
He wore a pristine charcoal suit, a crisp white shirt, and a dark silk tie. His face was still slightly pale, but the weak, bruised patient of yesterday had vanished entirely. His stormy gray eyes swept across the room, locking onto the four lieutenants with a chilling, absolute authority.
Marcus Vance dropped his scotch glass. The crystal shattered against the marble floor, splashing amber liquid across the expensive rug.
For three terrifying seconds, no one breathed. The four hardened criminals stared at Vincent as if he had literally climbed out of a grave.
“V-Vincent,” Marcus stammered, scrambling half an inch backward in his leather chair, his face draining of all color. “We... we were just... we thought—”
“You thought I was dead, Marcus,” Vincent finished smoothly.
Vincent walked slowly to the head of the marble table, pulling out the empty leather chair and sitting down. He didn't look sick. He looked dangerous.
“The doctors told us—” Dominic began, his hand instinctively twitching toward his holster.
“The doctors lied,” Vincent interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, lethal baritone. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on the marble table, lacing his fingers together. “In fact, the twelve specialists you hired from Boston and Zurich, Marcus, have already been dismissed. They proved to be remarkably careless with their medication protocols.”
Marcus swallowed hard, his throat bobbing violently. “Careless... how?”
Vincent didn't answer immediately. Instead, he raised his hand and pointed a single finger toward the back corner of the room.
“Elena,” Vincent commanded softly. “Bring me the folder.”
Elena stepped out from the shadows. Every eye in the boardroom snapped toward her. The four powerful lieutenants stared at her in utter bewilderment as she walked across the marble floor, carrying a slim manila dossier.
She placed the folder directly in front of Vincent on the marble table.
Vincent flipped it open, revealing the hospital pharmacy log, the administrative login codes, and the bank transfer records routed through a Cayman shell company—records linking Dr. Harrison’s financial accounts directly to Marcus Vance’s private offshore syndicate.
Vincent slid the documents across the table toward Marcus.
Marcus glanced down at the papers. In an instant, the slick, arrogant veneer completely shattered. His hands began to shake violently, scattering the pages across the polished marble.
“You... you tried to stop my heart, Marcus,” Vincent said, his voice terrifyingly calm. “You paid thirty thousand dollars a day to a fraudulent doctor to slip a lethal cardiac poison into my IV drip while I was recovering from a bomb you probably helped coordinate.”
“That’s a lie!” Marcus shrieked, jumping to his feet, panic breaking his voice. “She’s lying! She’s just a maid! You’re listening to a servant over your own executive board?!”
Vincent didn't raise his voice. He didn't blink.
He simply looked past Marcus toward the doorway.
“Dante,” Vincent called out.
The heavy double doors flew open. Dante stepped into the room, flanked by four armed security guards carrying assault rifles.
“Take Mr. Vance to the basement vault,” Vincent ordered, his stormy gray eyes fixed on Marcus with absolute finality. “And make sure he has plenty of time to review his financial portfolio before the federal prosecutors arrive in the morning.”
“Vincent, no! You can't do this! I built this empire with you!” Marcus screamed as Dante’s massive hands grabbed him by the collar of his bespoke suit, lifting him bodily out of his chair and dragging him screaming toward the door.
The heavy oak doors slammed shut behind them, cutting off Marcus’s desperate cries.
The remaining three lieutenants sat in paralyzed terror, staring straight ahead, too terrified to even draw a breath.
May you like
Vincent leaned back in his chair, a cold, unyielding smile touching his lips. He turned his head slowly, looking back toward the corner of the room where Elena stood quietly by the wall.
“Meeting adjourned,” Vincent said softly.
