Chapter 8 - The Return to New YorkThirty-six hours later, a private Gulfstream jet touched down on the tarmac at Teterboro Airport outside New York City.
Samuel didn't go to his penthouse. He didn't go to a hotel.
He walked straight into the glass-and-steel monolith of Andrews Global Headquarters on Fifth Avenue, flanked by Marcus and six heavily armed private security operatives.
It was 9:00 PM. The corporate offices were mostly empty, save for the executive suite on the seventieth floor where the lights were still blazing.
Samuel strode into the private elevator, his face carved from granite. The elevator doors opened directly into the executive suite.
Richard Sterling sat behind Samuel’s massive mahogany desk, casually pouring a glass of scotch, acting as if he already owned the entire building.
Richard looked up, freezing mid-pour as Samuel walked into the room.
"Samuel," Richard recovered quickly, offering a smug, arrogant smile as he set the crystal decanter down. "Back from your little charity trip to Ohio? You're a bit late. The board has already voted to strip your voting shares. You're ruined."
Samuel walked slowly across the plush carpet, stopping three feet from the desk. He didn't yell. He didn't raise his voice. His stillness was far more terrifying than any explosion.
"Ten years ago," Samuel spoke quietly, his voice cutting through the silent office like a razor blade, "you called an elderly woman in Ohio and told her that her son wanted nothing to do with her."
Richard’s smug smile flickered for a fraction of a second, though he quickly regained his composure. "I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, Samuel. Stress makes men delusional."
"You intercepted her calls," Samuel continued, his eyes locking onto Richard’s with a dead, predatory stare. "You forged legal documents. You broke her heart, and you contributed directly to her death."
Richard stood up, puffing out his chest. "Prove it! You have no proof, no recordings, no—"
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"I have the offshore bank records showing the bribe you paid the local Ohio telecom operator in 2016 to spoof my office number," Marcus stepped out of the shadows, slamming a thick manila folder down onto the desk. "And I have the audio confession from your former secretary whom you fired last month."
Richard stared at the folder, his face turning the color of ash.
