Chapter 34 - Wolves in Tailored Suits
At 9:00 AM the following morning, the glass-and-steel boardroom of the Manhattan Financial Tower was occupied by five men and one woman in bespoke European suits. At the head of the mahogany conference table sat Heinrich von Berg, an austere man in his late sixties with silver hair and eyes as cold as Alpine ice.
Beside him sat Victoria, looking far less glamorous than she had in Cabo. Her tailored blazer couldn't conceal the deep purple bruises on her wrists from her brief detainment, nor the nervous twitch in her jaw.
"The police are being contained through our legal proxies," Victoria muttered, checking her secure phone. "Julian is still in federal custody, but our team at the Metropolitan Detention Center can silence him before he testifies."
"Julian is irrelevant," Heinrich dismissed her coldly. "The child is what matters. The sniper in the pediatric wing botched the tranquilizer dart. If the child’s tissue is damaged, the synthetic enzyme destabilizes."
"You won't have to worry about my son's tissue, Heinrich," a voice rang out from the heavy double doors.
Every head in the room snapped around.
I walked into the boardroom dressed in a razor-sharp charcoal Givenchy suit, my heels clicking rhythmically against the Italian marble. Behind me stood Dominic, accompanied by four private tactical security officers in plain clothes, their hands resting on concealed carry holsters. In my left arm, wrapped in a protective carrier, was Noah, sleeping peacefully against my chest.
Victoria gasped, jumping out of her chair. "How did you get into this building? Security—"
"Security works for whoever pays their payroll, Victoria," I said smoothly, stepping to the head of the table and dropping a two-inch-thick dossier right in front of Heinrich von Berg. "And as of forty-five minutes ago, I acquired eighty percent of your Manhattan property management firm."
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Heinrich didn't flinch. He leaned back in his leather chair, inspecting me with calculating amusement. "Arthur Vance's little girl. Bold. Or monumentally stupid. You bring the boy directly into the lion's den?"
"This isn't a den, Heinrich. It's an abattoir, and you're the livestock," I smiled coldly, pulling out a chair and sitting down directly across from him. "You sent a sniper after my baby. You bought Julian Vance like a cheap hound to breed an heir you could carve up for patent rights. Did you really think Arthur Vance left his empire to a sheep?"
