Mr. Graves, senior partner at Graves, Vance & Sterling, slowly lowered his fountain pen. The click of the cap sounded like a gunshot in the vaulted room. Beside him, two associate attorneys—sharp-eyed men in charcoal bespoke suits—kept their expressions perfectly neutral, though their eyes flicked with clinical fascination toward the doorway.

All eyes snapped toward the entrance.

Two men in immaculate, dark Italian suits walked in. They didn't look like local thugs or street-level bookmakers; they moved with the polished, predatory grace of high-level cartel fixers. Leading them was a tall, silver-haired man with cold, slate-grey eyes and a permanent, razor-thin scar slicing downward from his left cheek to his jawline.

Viktor Kovalev.

The room collectively held its breath. Even Arthur Sterling shrank back into his chair, trembling so violently his coffee cup rattled against its saucer.

Viktor walked right down the center aisle of the boardroom, his polished leather shoes clicking against the floor, ignoring the terrified glances of the board members. He stopped five feet from the head of the table, his eyes shifting from Mr. Graves to David, and finally landing on me.

"Mrs. Whitmore," Viktor said, his voice a smooth, gravelly baritone with a faint, chilling Eastern European accent. "I must admit, when your son called me an hour ago—hysterical, crying like a beaten dog in a public alley—claiming he had been locked out of his house and disinherited, I thought he was exaggerating."

Viktor flashed a cold, humorless smile that didn't reach his eyes.

"It appears the boy was telling the truth for once in his wretched life."

I didn't blink. I kept my spine straight, my hands resting calmly on the table. "You wasted your trip, Mr. Kovalev. Caleb has no money, no assets, and no connection to this company anymore."

"Oh, I didn't come here for Caleb," Viktor replied smoothly, pulling out a slim gold cigarette case. He didn't light it; he just turned it over in his manicured fingers. "I came here for collateral."

Viktor gestured with his chin toward the projection screen, which still displayed our corporate shipping routes.

"Your son used Whitmore Logistics as our primary distribution pipeline for three years," Viktor continued, his voice dropping into a dangerous, conspiratorial whisper. "He signed legally binding service agreements using corporate letterhead and company seals. Under international commercial law, if the individual who signed defaults, the corporation inherits the debt. Total sum due: fifty million dollars. Payable immediately. In cash, or in full operational control of the Port of Seattle terminal."

A collective gasp echoed around the board table. Linda Vance looked like she was about to faint.

"And if we refuse?" I asked, my voice dangerously calm.

Viktor’s smile vanished, replaced by a dark, feral mask. "Then my associates outside will ensure that every single member of this board, starting with you and your little lawyer friends, spends the rest of your natural lives wishing you had never been born."

He took a step forward, towering over the table. "You have thirty seconds to sign the transfer of ownership over to my shell corporation, Mrs. Whitmore. Clock is ticking."

Silence descended upon the room—a heavy, suffocating vacuum of absolute dread.

Arthur Sterling reached blindly for a pen, his eyes wild with terror. "Sign it! Just sign it, Eleanor! We can't fight them! They'll kill us all!"

I didn't move an inch. I didn't look at Arthur.

Instead, I slowly turned my head and looked directly at David Sterling.

David didn't look scared. In fact, he was smiling. A slow, terrifyingly calm smile.

David reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his smartphone, tapped the screen twice, and slid it across the quartz table right toward Viktor Kovalev.

"You forgot to check your portfolio before you walked into this building, Mr. Kovalev," David said smoothly.

Viktor frowned, looking down at the phone screen.

Displayed on the screen was a live dashboard of the Kovalev Syndicate’s primary offshore financial accounts in Cyprus, the Cayman Islands, and Zurich.