Chapter 6 - Checkmate in Room 412Julian Vance looked entirely different from the stressed executive on the security footage. His hair was slicked back, a manic, glittering smile plastered across his face, and his eyes burned with the manic euphoria of a man who had nothing left to lose.
"Well, well, well," Julian laughed softly, shifting the bundle in his arms. "The great William Carter. Reduced to crawling on hospital floors. It’s poetic, really."
"Julian, you absolute lunatic!" Marcus screamed, taking a step forward. "Put the child down! Do you have any idea what you're doing? You're committing high treason against your own family name!"
"Shut up, Uncle Marcus!" Julian snapped, snapping the pistol barrel fractionally closer to the baby's soft head. "Family name? Since when has this family ever cared about anyone except William and his precious empire? Carter Global has billions, and what do I get? A mid-level executive title and crumbs while William plays God with the board!"
William slowly stood up from the floor. His face was a mask of cold, terrifying calm—the face of a man who had built a multi-billion-dollar empire through cutthroat corporate warfare. Every trace of panic had vanished, replaced by a terrifying, predatory focus.
"You want Carter Global, Julian?" William asked, his voice steady and low. "You don't need a baby to get it. Let the child go. Take my shares, take my accounts, take the entire company. It's yours."
Julian chuckled, a dry, mocking sound. "Oh, I'm taking the company, William. But I'm taking your bloodline with it. You see, a dead heir causes a hostile takeover clause to activate in Carter Global's charter. Within forty-eight hours, the board has to vote on a new CEO. And guess who owns the majority of the swing votes? Me and my offshore partners."
"You're insane," Marcus whispered, clutching his chest. "You'll spend the rest of your life in a supermax prison."
"Not if I'm on a private yacht in the Caribbean by morning," Julian smiled, his finger tightening slightly on the trigger. "Now, drop your phones. All of you. On the floor. Slide them over here."
William slowly reached into his suit jacket, pulled out his encrypted phone, and dropped it onto the floor. Marcus followed suit.
Julian’s eyes flicked down toward Ethan, who was still crouched near the window, holding his sack of bottles.
"And you, street rat," Julian sneered. "Drop the trash. Hands behind your head."
Ethan slowly stood up. He didn't drop his sack. Instead, he let his right hand slip deep into the canvas bag, his fingers wrapping around something heavy, cold, and made of thick glass.
"You know," Ethan said, his voice completely calm, cutting through the heavy tension in the room, "you talk a lot about your grand plan, Mr. Vance."
Julian frowned, his gun shifting slightly toward Ethan. "What did you call me?"
"I said," Ethan repeated, taking half a step forward, "your plan has a pretty big hole in it."
"Oh yeah? And what's that, you little beggar?"
"You forgot to check the trash can where you dumped the poison vial."
May you like
Julian’s face went momentarily slack. His eyes widened just a fraction. "What are you talking about?"
"I mean," Ethan smiled, a sudden, sharp flash of teeth in his dirty face, "I'm not the only one who likes to dig through the trash."
