Chapter 12 - The Ghost from the East
The private terminal at Teterboro Airport was shrouded in a heavy, freezing mist as a sleek Gulfstream G700 touched down on the tarmac. The door hissed open, and a figure descended the metal steps wearing a tailored charcoal trench coat and leather gloves that concealed hands stained with decades of old syndicate blood.
Viktor Vance—older brother to the disgraced Arthur Vance—stepped into the biting wind. He didn't look like a man hiding from the law; he looked like a king returning to reclaim an exiled crown.
"Get the car," Viktor commanded his driver without breaking stride. "And notify the board. Tell them the true owner of Moretti Global is back in town, and it’s time to collect the debt."
Within the hour, an encrypted holographic message materialized on Maeve’s private terminal in the penthouse. The screen flickered, revealing an empty, darkened room illuminated only by the harsh glow of a single desk lamp. A gravelly voice echoed through the high-end speakers.
“You built a nice glass castle, little girl. But castles built on stolen foundations always come crashing down when the tide rolls in. Meet me at Pier 54 tonight at midnight. Come alone, or watch your stock portfolio burn to ash before the morning bell.”
Rocco stepped up behind Maeve, his eyes locked on the frozen transmission. "Viktor Vance," he growled. "The smartest rat in the eastern syndicate. I thought he died in a federal raid in Marseilles ten years ago."
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"He didn't die," Maeve said, her fingers instantly locking onto the communication traceback protocol. "He went underground to rebuild. He thinks he can use our newly legalized corporate structure to wage a silent financial war."
"Then we give him a war," Rocco replied, sliding a heavy, nickel-plated 9mm pistol into his jacket pocket. "The old-fashioned way."
