Chapter 2 - THE WOLF’S SUMMONSThe phone call finally came at 6:00 AM the next morning.
Arthur was sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of black coffee, while Maya and Leo slept soundly upstairs in the guest suite. The screen lit up again: Jonathan Sterling.
This time, Arthur pressed accept.
"Arthur," Jonathan’s voice boomed through the speaker, dripping with condescension and cold fury. "Victoria is currently sitting in my study, sobbing hysterically with a bruised face. Care to explain what kind of animalistic gutter-trash behavior possessed you to lay a hand on my daughter?"
Arthur didn’t flinch. He took a slow sip of his coffee before speaking, his voice eerily calm.
"She hit a child, Jonathan. Twice. Under my roof."
"A child?" Jonathan scoffed, a dry, humorless sound. "Some stray brats you brought home without consulting her? You raised your hand against a Sterling over strangers? Have you lost your mind? Victoria tells me you ordered her out of her own house."
"It’s my house, Jonathan," Arthur corrected quietly, every syllable sharp as a razor. "Bought and paid for before Victoria and I ever crossed paths. And as of last night, she is no longer welcome in it."
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the receiver. For a few seconds, there was dead silence on the line. Jonathan Sterling was a man who was never defied—not by business partners, not by politicians, and certainly not by the quiet, unassuming art dealer he had always regarded as a glorified charity case in the family tree.
"You arrogant little fool," Jonathan whispered, his voice trembling with suppressed rage. "You think you can play the big man because you hid behind a canvas for a few years? By noon today, your bank accounts will be frozen. By tomorrow, every gallery that displays your work will drop you. By the end of the week, you won't even have the clothes on your back. We will strip you bare."
"Try," Arthur said simply.
Click.
Arthur hung up the phone. He set it face down on the marble counter, stood up, and walked over to the landline phone plugged into the kitchen wall—a secure, encrypted line that hadn't rung in six years.
He punched in a seven-digit sequence from memory.
The line connected on the second ring. A crisp, professional voice answered immediately.
"Vanguard Logistics. Code required."
Arthur stared out the window at the morning fog rolling over the pristine lawn.
"V-990-Phoenix," Arthur said clearly. "Activate the contingency protocol. The Sterling account is open."
May you like
"Acknowledged, Chairman," the voice replied without a hint of hesitation. "Shall we begin with the liquidation or the audit?"
"Both," Arthur said. "And make it hurt."
