Chapter 4 - THE BOARD IS SET
The black SUV sped through the rain-slicked streets of New York, its siren muted, strobing red and blue lights reflecting off the wet pavement.
Inside, Nora held Mia tightly against her side. Across from them sat Special Agent Marcus Reed, a sharp-eyed investigator with grey hair and a permanent scowl.
“Where are you taking us?” Nora asked, her voice tight with suspicion. “If Grant sent you—”
“Grant Ellison didn't send us, Mrs. Bennett,” Agent Reed interrupted, holding up a thick manila folder. “We’ve been monitoring Ellison Enterprises for three years. We knew he was cooking the books, but he buried his paper trail behind seven layers of international shell companies. We couldn't break his encryption.”
He looked at Mia, his expression softening slightly.
“Until your daughter decided to play a game of chess.”
Mia looked up. “It wasn't just a game, Agent Reed. My dad taught me that when an opponent is arrogant, they only look at the pieces they want to attack. They never look at the squares they leave behind.”
Reed let out a quiet, impressed chuckle. “Your father was a smart man, Mia. He tried to come to us ten years ago. He had compiled a master ledger proving Grant was stealing billions from pension funds and laundering money for foreign oligarchs.”
“And then he died,” Nora said bitterly. “His brakes failed on Route 1. The police called it an accident.”
“It wasn't an accident,” Reed said gravely. “And we know it. But back then, Grant had enough political power to bury the investigation. Now? The whole world is watching. That video has eighty million views. The SEC has already frozen Ellison Enterprises' trading privileges as of five minutes ago.”
Nora gasped. “Frozen?”
“His stock is in freefall,” Reed said. “By the time Wall Street opens at 9:00 AM, Grant Ellison will have lost over two billion dollars in market cap. But that makes him dangerous, Mrs. Bennett. A cornered animal bites back.”
At that exact moment, back in the penthouse, Grant Ellison was staring at a bank of monitors showing his falling stock projections.
His legal team was shouting into phones. His PR team was frantically trying to get social media platforms to take down the viral video on copyright grounds, but it was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a napkin.
A side door opened, and a tall man wearing an expensive charcoal suit walked into the penthouse. He didn't look like an attorney or an executive. He walked with a silent, predatory grace.
His name was Victor Vance—Arthur Vance’s younger brother, and Grant’s off-the-books “fixer.”
“Send everyone out,” Victor said quietly.
Grant gestured to his staff. “Leave us. All of you.”
Once the room cleared, Grant turned to Victor, his eyes blazing with fury. “Tell me you found them.”
“I know where the FBI took them,” Victor said, pulling out a burner phone. “They’re in a safe house in Brooklyn. Nora has the physical hard drive containing Alexander Bennett’s master key. If that hard drive reaches the grand jury on Monday, you aren't just broke, Grant. You’re going to prison for the rest of your life.”
Grant gripped his glass of scotch so hard the crystal cracked under his force.
“I spent thirty years building this empire,” Grant snarled. “I won't let a dead man’s ghost and a ten-year-old girl tear it down.”
“What do you want me to do?” Victor asked coldly.
May you like
Grant looked out over the glittering skyline of New York—the city he thought he owned.
“End it,” Grant ordered. “Get the hard drive. And make sure the Bennett family finally disappears for good.”
