Chapter 11 - The Phantom ManifestThe fire in the study crackled softly, casting a warm golden glow over the Persian rug where Rex was stretched out, snoring lightly.
Julian sat at his mahogany desk, reviewing the quarterly balance sheets that Don Salvatore had sent over from Palermo. Everything was balanced. The ports were clear, the shipping lanes were secure, and the new European oversight committee was functioning like clockwork.
Yet, something on page twelve caught his eye. A sub-ledger entry under an obscure shell company named Vanguard Logistics.
"Camille," Julian said without looking up.
A moment later, the study door clicked open. Camille walked in, carrying a cup of steaming black coffee and placing it gently beside his elbow. She didn't wear the severe navy maid's dress anymore; a soft charcoal cashmere sweater suited her new position in the household far better, though the watchful, analytical sharpness in her dark eyes remained entirely unchanged.
"You're frowning at page twelve again," she noted, leaning her hip slightly against the edge of the desk.
"Vanguard Logistics," Julian tapped the paper with a gold-plated pen. "They just funneled two million euros into a dormant account tied to the late Victor Vance’s overseas holdings. I thought we scrubbed every trace of his network after the raid."
Camille’s expression tightened instantly. The relaxed posture vanished, replaced by the coiled readiness of a tactical coordinator.
"Vance wasn't operating alone," she said, her voice dropping into a low, serious register. "A corporate raider like him doesn't move millions without a board of directors backing him up. We cut off the head, but the body is still twitching."
Rex suddenly lifted his massive head from the rug, his dark ears swiveling forward. He didn't growl, but a low, vibrating hum began deep in his chest.
At that exact second, the master security console on the wall began to flash a silent, pulsing amber light.
Perimeter breach. South-west sector. Silent alarm.
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Julian’s hand moved smoothly to the Browning Hi-Power resting in its custom holster beneath the desk. He didn't panic; his face turned into that familiar, frozen river ice.
"It seems," Julian whispered, looking up at Camille with a dangerous smile, "our vacation has been postponed."
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