Chapter 4 - THE DESPERATE REVENUE
While Elena was taking control of the global shadow banking system, Damian Vance was sinking into the lowest circle of hell.
He sat on a stained mattress in a $40-a-night motel on the outskirts of Queens. The room smelled of stale tobacco and bleach. Outside, rain hit the thin windowpane in relentless waves.
His $5,000 suit was crumpled and filthy. His phone—now hooked up to cheap prepaid Wi-Fi—was blowing up with hundreds of notifications, but none of them were good.
BANK ALERT: Account #8841 Closed. LEGAL NOTICE: Eviction Order Executed for Penthouse 4B. NEWS: Damian Vance Indicted on Corporate Fraud Charges.
"It can't end like this," Damian muttered to himself, grabbing his head in his hands. "It can't! I am Damian Vance! I built this city!"
The door to his motel room suddenly rattled.
Damian jumped up, grabbing a heavy brass lamp off the nightstand. "Who's there?!"
The door swung open, and Veronica walked in, soaked in rain, her expensive hair ruined, her makeup running down her face in dark streaks. She looked completely shattered.
"Damian..." she sobbed, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank God I found you! The police went to my apartment! They seized everything! My cars, my clothes, my jewelry! They said I was an accomplice!"
Damian roughly pushed her away, glaring at her with disgust. "Get off me, you useless parasite!"
Veronica stumbled back, shocked. "What?!"
"This is your fault!" Damian screamed, his sanity slipping away. "You're the one who pushed me to humiliate Elena yesterday! You're the one who threw her files on the floor and told me to fire her in front of everyone! If you hadn't done that, she wouldn't have snapped! She wouldn't have triggered the takeover!"
"My fault?!" Veronica shrieked back, her panic turning into rage. "You were the one who hit her! You were the one who treated her like dirt for five years! You used her brains to write your speeches and format your deals, and then you treated her like a maid! Don't you dare blame me, Damian!"
"Shut up!" Damian yelled, stepping toward her threateningly. "Get out of my room!"
"Gladly!" Veronica spat. "You're not a billionaire anymore, Damian! You're just a pathetic, broke coward hiding in a dump!"
She turned and sprinted out into the rain, slamming the door behind her.
Damian stood alone in the quiet room, his breathing heavy and ragged. He looked at himself in the cracked mirror above the sink. The man staring back looked old, defeated, and pathetic.
Suddenly, his prepaid phone buzzed. An incoming call from an unknown, encrypted number.
Damian snatched the phone. "Hello?! Who is this?!"
"Damian," a heavy, deep voice with a thick Russian accent answered.
Damian’s heart stopped. It was Nikolai Volkov—a notorious underground arms dealer and loan shark to whom Damian had secretly borrowed $50 million three months ago to cover an unauthorized short stock position.
"Nikolai..." Damian stammered, sweat pouring down his neck. "Look, I know what the news is saying, but I can explain—"
"I don't care about the news, Damian," Nikolai said coldly over the line. "I care about my $50 million. With interest, it is now $70 million."
"I don't have it right now!" Damian pleaded. "Everything was frozen! Give me two weeks! I'll find a way—"
"You have six hours, Damian," Nikolai interrupted. "If my money is not in my Zurich account by midnight, my men will collect the debt in physical collateral. Starting with your fingers."
The line went dead.
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Damian dropped the phone to the floor, his knees giving out as he fell to his carpeted floor, sobbing in pure terror.
There was only one person on Earth who could save him now. The person he had destroyed. The person who held the entire world in her hand.
