Chapter 4 - The Predator on the Sound
At seven o'clock the following morning, the thirty-sixth floor of the Vance Maritime Tower in downtown Seattle was enclosed in a dense coastal fog that clung to the floor-to-ceiling glass walls.
The twenty-seat executive boardroom, built of polished mahogany and dark granite, was occupied by Gregory Vance—my thirty-eight-year-old cousin and the newly appointed vice-chairman of our domestic shipping division—along with four high-priced bankruptcy litigators from Chicago.
Gregory was leaning back in the leather chair that had belonged to my father, tossing an expensive gold pen between his fingers, smiling at a stack of foreclosure deeds.
"Julian," Gregory smiled smoothly as I walked through the double doors. "I didn't expect you back from Tokyo until Thursday. We were just finalizing the secondary debt acquisition for the Puget Sound expansion. A small local commercial parcel in Ballard—an old warehouse currently leased to a boutique design studio."
I walked to the head of the table. I did not take off my coat. I did not sit down.
Behind me walked Harrison Reed, the chief legal counsel for the Vance Sovereign Trust for thirty years, accompanied by Detective Raymond Callahan of the Seattle Police Department’s Financial Crimes Division.
"The parcel leased to Bennett Design Studios, Gregory?" I asked, my voice calm, level, and deadly.
Gregory’s smile didn't waver, but his fingers paused on the gold pen. "A routine commercial foreclosure, cousin. The tenant fell sixty days behind on the mezzanine financing covenants. Under our portfolio mandate, we are clearing the parcel for a container staging yard."
Harrison Reed stepped forward, placing a heavy steel briefcase onto the center of the table. He clicked the latches open with two sharp, concussive snaps.
"Under Article Four of the Vance Sovereign Charter," Harrison announced, his deep baritone cutting through the room like a broadsword, "the Chairman exercises unilateral veto authority over all real estate acquisitions exceeding one million dollars. Furthermore, under emergency executive order ratified by Eleanor Vance at dawn, all corporate proxies held by Gregory Vance are suspended pending a full forensic audit."
Gregory jumped to his feet, his chair screeching violently against the parquet floor. "You can't suspend my proxies! Arthur appointed me managing partner of the Pacific Trust before he died!"
"Arthur appointed you to manage a trust that belonged to my sons, Gregory," I said, stepping across the room until I stood inches from his face.
Gregory’s breath hitched. His eyes darted toward the litigators, then back to my face, the color draining from his cheeks. "Your... your sons? You don't have children, Julian. Claire was barren."
The word hit the room like a detonated charge.
I reached out, grabbed Gregory by the lapels of his custom pinstripe suit, and lifted him three inches off the floor, slamming his spine back against the mahogany wall display.
"Say that word again in my presence, Gregory," I whispered, my voice vibrating with lethal, terrifying stillness, "and you will leave this building through the window."
The four litigators stood up instantly, backing away toward the door, their hands raised in defensive retreat.
Detective Callahan stepped forward, flashing a federal search warrant.
"Gregory Vance," Callahan announced. "We have the encrypted server logs from your Chicago accounts detailing sixty-two illegal wiretaps, private surveillance payments, and unlawful debt manipulation targeting Claire Bennett. You have ten seconds to surrender your security tokens before we escort you to the federal holding facility."
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I let go of Gregory’s jacket. He crumpled back into his chair, gasping for air, staring up at me in total, unmitigated ruin as the armed federal marshals stepped into the room with handcuffs drawn.
"Clear his office," I commanded without looking back. "And prepare the company convoy. I have a family to bring home."
