Chapter 4 - The Man in the Trench Coat
Victor Vance stood on the top step of the boarding stairs, clutching the titanium briefcase to his chest as the jet wash whipped his silver hair into a wild frenzy. He looked less like a corporate mastermind and more like a desperate, cornered animal whose entire existence had been boiled down to a single, burning obsession: revenge.
"You took everything from me, Ethan!" Victor’s voice tore through the night, amplified by the harsh screech of the Gulfstream’s idling turbines. "You buried my company with your predatory pricing in 2018! You put my best engineers out on the street! You thought you were untouchable behind your iron gates in Lake Forest!"
"Your company went under because your safety standards were a joke and your ledgers were cooked," Ethan shouted back, taking two measured steps forward onto the tarmac, keeping his hands visible but ready. "I didn't destroy your business, Victor. You did it to yourself."
"Liar!" Victor snarled, his finger hovering over a red panic button on the side of the titanium briefcase. "And now, thanks to Camille—the finest actress this side of Hollywood—you’re about to find out what it feels like to lose every penny, every patent, and every shred of dignity you own. The encryption keys to your entire logistics network are inside this case. As soon as I step onto this plane and plug this drive into the satellite uplink, your whole empire belongs to Foster & Vance Holdings."
From the shadows behind the SUV, Marcus and two other security operatives fanned out silently, their tactical flashlights cutting through the fog, sweeping toward the landing gear of the jet.
"You really think Camille loves you?" Ethan taunted, keeping Victor talking, stalling for time while Marcus crept toward the plane's hydraulic release valve. "You think a woman who spent two years sleeping beside a man she despises is going to share her billions with an old bitter criminal hiding in the Caymans?"
Victor’s eyes narrowed. A flicker of genuine doubt crossed his wrinkled face before he hardened his expression again. "She’s my surrogate daughter. We share the same bloodline of vengeance. We made a pact over the ashes of my old office."
"She shares blood with no one," Ethan said coldly. "She used you just like she used me. The moment those keys transfer, do you really think she planned on splitting the empire 50-50? Or did clause 14B assign sole executive control to the primary surviving signatory—which happens to be registered under her maiden name alone?"
Victor’s breath caught. He looked down at the briefcase, his fingers twitching over the latch. For a second, the cold, calculating veneer cracked. He remembered Camille's chilling words from earlier that week: Victor can wait. I am not letting him rush me.
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"You're lying," Victor whispered, though the conviction in his voice was rapidly eroding.
"Ask her yourself," Ethan said, pulling his phone from his pocket and tapping the speakerphone icon. "I left an open line to the panic room. She's listening right now."
