Chapter 11 - The Empire's Ledger
The heavy oak doors of the boardroom clicked shut, locking behind the guards who dragged Vanessa away. Silence descended over the room, thick enough to suffocate a lesser person. Sixty elite capos, regional bosses, and underground powerbrokers stared at me with newfound terror and respect. They weren't looking at a delivery girl anymore. They were looking at the woman who had broken Marcus Vance, dismantled her father's empire, and negotiated a fifty-percent stake in the most dangerous syndicate in North America.
Dominic leaned back in his leather chair, a slow, predatory smirk playing across his lips. "You heard the partner," his deep voice cut through the quiet. "The Chicago docks, the financial portfolios, and the European logistics network now answer directly to Avery Carter. If anyone has an objection, speak now or take it up with her feet."
Nobody moved. Nobody breathed.
"Good," I said, stepping back up to the head of the mahogany table and slamming a stack of encrypted audit reports onto the polished wood. "Because our first order of business isn't expanding territory—it's cleaning house. For the past three years, twenty-two percent of our untraceable cash flow has been skimmed by internal syndicates hiding in plain sight. Open your tablets. Let's review who's been stealing from us."
For the next two hours, I dissected financial spreadsheets with the cold precision of a surgeon. I named names, shell companies, and offshore routing numbers. By the time I dismissed the meeting, four regional capos were pale, sweating bullets, and realizing their days were numbered.
As the room cleared out, Dominic lingered by the floor-to-ceiling glass wall, watching the rain beat against the Chicago skyline.
"You're ruthless, Avery," Dominic remarked, swirling a glass of scotch without looking back. "You dismantled four veteran bosses in ninety minutes without firing a single shot."
"Ruthlessness isn't about cruelty, Dominic," I replied, sitting down at my new desk and opening a secure terminal. "It's about efficiency. If you don't cut out the rot, the whole body dies."
"Speaking of rot," Dominic said, turning around with a serious glint in his eye. "Intelligence reports just came in from Zurich. Your father didn't act alone. He had an accomplice inside the federal task force—the very same Agent Miller who tried to blow up our jet."
My fingers froze over the mechanical keyboard. "Miller."
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"He’s still in Chicago," Dominic continued, his voice dropping an octave. "And he’s planning a raid on our primary pharmaceutical supply warehouse tonight at midnight. He thinks we're vulnerable because we're transitioning leadership."
I slowly stood up, sliding my tactical holster beneath the tailored jacket of my Armani suit. "Then let's show Agent Miller what happens when you hunt a Moretti."
