Chapter 18 - Judgment in ZurichThe old man with the silver beard slowly reached for a hidden panic button beneath the mahogany table.
Before his finger could press the plastic toggle, a heavy combat knife flashed through the air, embedding itself an inch deep into the wood directly through his palm, pinning his hand to the table. He let out a piercing, agonized shriek, clutching his bleeding hand as Victor stepped out of the shadows.
"Don't," Victor warned coldly.
Ramon walked up to the head of the table, pulled out a velvet-lined chair with unhurried grace, and sat down. He folded his hands, resting them on the mahogany surface, and stared at the terrified directors.
"Twenty years ago, my father left this room thinking he had cleaned house," Ramon said, his voice quiet, carrying the weight of an impending avalanche. "He was merciful. He let old men keep their titles while he built an empire."
"Ortega—listen to reason," the second director stammered, sweating profusely. "We can negotiate. Shares, assets, global shipping routes—"
"I don't want your money," Ramon interrupted, his dark eyes locking onto the man with predatory focus. "I want your silence."
Ramon reached into his jacket pocket and slid three heavy, silver medallions across the polished table—the exact symbols left behind on Elena's chest six months ago in that foggy forest.
"Place your hands on the medallions," Ramon commanded.
May you like
The directors looked at each other in sheer terror, realizing the grim reality of their situation. Slowly, trembling hands reached out and touched the cold silver.
"From this moment on," Ramon whispered, leaning forward, "the Vanguard Syndicate is dead. Anyone who speaks its name, anyone who looks toward my family, anyone who breathes a word of the ledger... ceases to exist."
