Chapter 3 - The Wolves at the Door and the First StrikeMorning sunlight broke over the Montana peaks, turning the snow into a blinding sheet of white light. Inside the Cross estate, panic had replaced the arrogant calm of the previous night.
Damon paced the length of his grand study, slamming his fist onto the mahogany desk so hard a crystal decanter rattled. "What do you mean, frozen accounts?!" he roared at his trembling chief financial officer, who stood near the door clutching a tablet.
"Sir, as of 6:00 AM, every primary and secondary corporate account linked to Cross Shipping has been frozen by Horizon Holdings," the CFO stammered, sweat beading on his forehead. "They didn't just freeze them—they initiated an immediate debt-call on our structural loans. We owe two hundred million dollars due by midnight, or the entire estate and all port facilities are automatically seized."
Margaret Cross rushed into the room, her face pale beneath layers of heavy makeup. "Damon! It’s the media. Every major news outlet is running an investigative piece on our shipping manifests from the last five years. Federal investigators are already outside the main gate!"
Damon stopped pacing. His face drained of color as the horrific reality crashed down upon him. This wasn't a random corporate takeover. This was targeted, surgical, and devastatingly fast.
"Adrian Voss," Damon hissed, his teeth grinding together until his jaw ached. "He did this. He took my wife, and now he’s trying to strip me bare."
"We need to fight back," Margaret hissed, her eyes narrowing with vicious desperation. "Call the state prosecutor. Call the board. We still have leverage—we have Elena's signature on the prenuptial trust. If she’s gone, the trust defaults back to us!"
"She didn't sign the final clause, Mother," Damon whispered, the words tasting like ash in his mouth. "I... I never got her to sign it. I kept putting it off because I thought I had all the time in the world."
Before Margaret could scream in fury, the heavy oak doors of the study blew inward with a deafening crash. Splintered wood flew across the Persian rug as three armed federal agents, flanked by private security operatives wearing Horizon Holdings insignia, strode into the room.
"Damon Cross, you are under arrest for corporate fraud, money laundering, and illegal asset seizure," the lead agent announced, stepping forward with a pair of steel handcuffs gleaming in the morning light.
Damon lunged toward his desk, reaching for his hidden pistol, but a heavy boot slammed onto the desktop, pinning his hand down before he could touch the weapon.
From the shadows of the doorway, a tall, impeccably tailored figure stepped into the room. Adrian Voss walked slowly, his hands tucked casually into his coat pockets, his gaze cold and indifferent as he looked down at the crumbling heir of the Cross family.
"You forgot one thing, Damon," Adrian said softly, his voice cutting through the chaos of the arrest.
May you like
Damon thrashed against the agents pulling his arms behind his back, his face twisted in pure, unadulterated hatred. "Voss! You son of a bitch! Give me back my wife!"
Adrian tilted his head, a chilling smile touching his lips. "She’s not your wife anymore, Damon. And as of right now, you don't even have a name."
