Chapter 13 - The Dragon’s EnvoyThe knock on the penthouse door at midnight wasn't polite. It sounded like the heavy strike of a sledgehammer against reinforced oak.
Tommy Mercer drew his sidearm, gesturing for Edmund and Vivien to stay back as he moved toward the entryway.
Edmund didn't move. He poured two fingers of amber scotch into a crystal tumbler, handed one to Vivien, and took a slow sip.
"Don't shoot, Tommy," Edmund called out. "Let them in. We have company."
Tommy pulled the heavy bolts back with a sharp metallic clack and jerked the door open.
Stepping into the foyer wasn't an army of foot soldiers. It was a single man. He wore an immaculate white silk suit, silver-rimmed glasses, and carried a carved ivory cane with a ruby embedded in the handle. Behind him stood two massive guards holding closed umbrella cases that clearly concealed submachine guns.
"Mr. Costa," the man said, his English accented with the precise, clipped cadence of Hong Kong high society. "And the elusive Mrs. Costa. How delightful to find you both at home."
"Arthur Wu," Vivien murmured, stepping out from the shadow of the hallway, her posture straight, her chin lifted. "I thought you stayed on the other side of the Pacific."
Wu smiled, a thin, razor-sharp expression that didn't reach his cold, dark eyes. "A daughter's debt requires personal collection, my dear. And Mr. Costa has been playing with property that was promised to my ledger long before he bought your contract."
Edmund walked slowly out of the study, his whiskey glass in hand. He stopped two feet from Wu, towering over the older man by half a head.
"You're standing in my penthouse, Wu," Edmund said, his voice dropping into that icy, subsonic register. "And you're breathing my air. Both of those choices have an expiration date."
Wu chuckled softly, tapping his ivory cane against the marble floor. "Mr. Costa, your local empire is built on sand. I own the shipping lanes from Shanghai to Seattle. If I shut off your supply lines, your casinos go dark, your guards walk off the job, and your name becomes a ghost story by sunrise."
"Try it," Vivien stepped up beside Edmund, her voice cutting through the tension like a scalpel. "Try shutting down the shipping lanes, Arthur. Because while you're busy blocking containers, my husband’s accountants are currently liquidating every shell company you own in the Cayman Islands."
Wu’s smile vanished. His dark eyes darted from Vivien to Edmund with sudden, lethal focus.
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"You think you can out-audit the Dragon?" Wu hissed.
"We already did," Edmund replied, raising his glass in a silent toast. "Now get out of my house before I feed you to the harbor fish."
