Chapter 7 - The Dinner of the DamnedTwo hours later, the storm outside had grown into a violent tempest, lashing rain against the tall glass windows of the Brooks mansion.
Inside the grand dining hall, the atmosphere was suffocating.
At the head of a massive mahogany dining table sat Daniel Brooks, his posture rigid as stone, nursing a glass of scotch he hadn't touched. To his right sat Lucas, eating in silence, keeping close to Natalie, who stood quietly behind his chair like a silent guardian.
The heavy double doors swung open, and a tall, impeccably dressed man walked into the room with a confident, almost theatrical smile.
“Daniel! Thank God you’re safe,” Julian Brooks—Daniel’s own cousin and chief financial officer—exclaimed, rushing forward with his arms spread wide. “My security team called me as soon as they heard about the breach at the gate. Are you alright? Where is the boy?”
Julian stopped short when he noticed the lack of welcome.
Daniel didn’t stand up. He didn’t smile. He slowly slid the black leather ledger across the polished wood of the dining table until it stopped right in front of Julian’s plate.
Julian’s smile didn’t drop immediately, but his eyes flickered toward the book with a microscopic twitch.
“What... what is this?” Julian asked, his voice losing a fraction of its smooth confidence.
“Page forty-two, Julian,” Daniel said softly. His voice carried the chilling weight of an executioner's axe. “Evelyn tried to use it as a bargaining chip before we tied her up in the basement. It details every wire transfer from the Swiss accounts to the hit squad that ambushed my car five years ago—the night Elena died.”
Julian swallowed hard. The color drained completely from his face, leaving his skin a sickly, ash-gray. He didn’t reach for the book.
“Daniel, you’re listening to a demented old housekeeper,” Julian stammered, holding up his hands defensively. “Evelyn was skimming funds for years! Everyone in the house knew she was unstable. She’s trying to frame me to save her own skin!”
“She’s tied up downstairs,” Natalie spoke up for the first time, her voice cutting cleanly through the dining room silence. “And she sang like a canary the moment Mr. Brooks promised her a cell far away from federal extradition. She gave us the bank routing numbers, the encrypted messaging keys, and the exact date you met with the assassins in Geneva.”
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Julian’s eyes darted toward the exit. Two of Daniel’s heavy enforcers—men built like brick walls—stepped silently out from the shadows near the double doors, blocking the path entirely.
The trap had snapped shut. There was no escape.
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