Chapter 6 - THE VISITOR FROM THE EASTThrough the smoking breach stepped Jack Mercer.
He wasn't wearing a suit today.
He wore tactical body armor over a black trench coat, carrying a customized assault rifle resting casually across his chest.
Behind him strode Emily Carter.
She wore a sharp, charcoal-gray business suit that looked like it had been tailored for war. Her hair was pulled back into a tight bun, and in her left hand, she carried a sleek, encrypted titanium briefcase.
And right behind her, walking with a steady, unyielding stride despite the heavy bandages still concealed beneath his coat sleeve, was Mason Vale.
Viktor Vance slowly rose from his chair, his old hands gripping the edge of the obsidian table.
“Mason,” Viktor rasped, a dangerous glint in his milky eyes. “You walk into the heart of the Syndicate without an invitation. You think because you disposed of Arthur, you can sit at this table?”
Mason didn't answer immediately.
He walked all the way to the head of the table, pulled out Viktor’s chair, and sat down as if he owned the building—which, according to the digital stocks displayed on his phone, he now did.
“Arthur thought he owned me too, Viktor,” Mason said softly, leaning forward. “He thought I was a stray dog he pulled out of the gutter. He forgot that the dog learns how to bite the hand that feeds it if the food is poisoned.”
Marcus reached slowly for the hidden panic button beneath the armrest of his chair.
“You’re out of your depth, boy,” Marcus sneered. “This is Zurich. The Swiss police will have this building surrounded in—”
Clack.
Emily slammed the titanium briefcase onto the center of the table and flipped the dual biometric latches.
The lid popped open, bathing the terrified faces of the five elders in the cold, blue light of a built-in OLED monitor.
“The police won't be coming, Mr. Marcus,” Emily said, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “Because three minutes ago, our team transferred every single offshore account, shell company, and hidden asset belonging to the Zurich Syndicate into a charitable trust managed by the families of the dockworkers Arthur and your council blew up twenty years ago.”
Marcus’s hand froze inches from the button.
He stared at the screen.
Account balances: $0.00.
Assets: Liquidated.
Hidden portfolios: Erased.
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“You... you can’t do that,” Marcus whispered, his face draining of all color. “That’s billions—!”
“It was stolen,” Mason interrupted, his voice dropping an octave, turning glacial. “And now it’s returned. Which brings us to why we’re here.”
