Chapter 6 - Kneel for the Contract
The shatter of Owen’s crystal tumbler seemed to ring out long after the shards settled into the damp red carpet.
Not a single soul among the two hundred socialites and hedge-fund tycoons dared to breathe. Cameras that had been pointed at Bianca’s emerald necklace swung instantly toward Vittorio’s hand, which remained clamped around Owen’s collar with the unyielding strength of an industrial vise.
“Let go of him!” Bianca screeched, her voice cracking into shrill hysterics. She reached out, trying to pry Vittorio’s fingers away, but Vittorio didn’t even glance at her. He didn't have to. Two stone-faced security operatives in charcoal suits materialized from behind Julian, stepping between Bianca and her husband like an iron curtain.
“Touch me, and you’re arrested for assault on the spot!” Bianca raged, backing away as the guards hemmed her in. Her hair was coming undone, the carefully curated society mask peeling away to reveal naked, rat-like panic. “This is an outrage! You fabricated those documents! Julian, you traitorous dog, my father paid your retainer for twenty-five years!”
“Your father paid me to safeguard the Vance legacy from predators, Mrs. Vance,” Julian said smoothly, resting both hands on his silver-headed walking stick. “He simply knew that the deadliest predators shared his bloodline.”
Vittorio shoved Owen backward.
Owen stumbled over his own feet, crashing hard onto his knees amid the splintered glass. He scrambled to keep his balance, his tailored trousers soaking up the puddle of single-malt whiskey. Blood began to seep through the dark fabric at his knee where a jagged crystal edge bit into the bone, but he was too terrified to cry out. He looked up at Vittorio like a cornered dog waiting for the boot.
Vittorio stepped forward, standing directly above him. He reached inside his breast pocket and drew out a folded sheaf of cream bond paper stamped with red corporate wax.
“You came down to the carriage house this morning with an eviction notice, Owen,” Vittorio said, his voice dropping into that chilling, conversational cadence that held the room in paralyzed silence. “You said Nico and I had ninety minutes to pack our things. You said broken things don’t belong in this house.”
Nico sat quietly in his titanium chair, holding his repaired airplane against his ribs. His eyes were wide, taking in the ballroom where his aunt had once ordered him hidden behind velvet curtains so the guests wouldn't see his withered legs.
“Vittorio… please,” Owen wheezed, his bruised jaw throbbing beneath the heavy makeup. “It was just business. You know the board was breathing down our necks. We had to show strong leadership to secure the loan—”
“The loan is done,” Vittorio interrupted flatly. “The Sterling Syndicate has purchased your total personal liabilities. All seventy-four million dollars of debt you accrued on margin trades in Macau and bad hotel acquisitions in Dubai. Do you know what that makes me, Owen?”
Owen shook his head numbly, beads of cold sweat cutting white tracks through his pancake foundation.
“It makes me your sole sovereign creditor,” Vittorio replied.
With a flick of his wrist, Vittorio let the papers unfold. He tossed them down into the pool of liquor right in front of Owen’s trembling hands.
“Read clause four, paragraph B.”
Owen stared at the soaked document, his vision blurring. “I… I can’t read it without my—”
“Read it,” Vittorio ordered. The single syllable dropped with the weight of an anvil.
Owen frantically grabbed the wet parchment, his hands shaking so violently the paper tore along the margin. His eyes darted across the bold legal print, his lips moving soundlessly before his face lost every remaining drop of color.
“‘Immediate… immediate acceleration upon demand of all personal promissory notes,’” Owen whispered, his voice cracking. “‘In lieu of immediate cash settlement, the creditor reserves the right of foreclosure against all real estate, movable property, offshore trust disbursements, and… and personal luxury effects.’”
“Which means,” Julian added from behind, “at 10:14 this morning, your penthouse in Manhattan was repossessed. Your lease on the private hangar at Teterboro was terminated. Your four vintage Ferraris are currently being loaded onto Sterling transport carriers. You do not own the suit on your back, Mr. Vance. You are an uncertificated bankrupt.”
A collective gasp swept through the crowd. Several prominent bank executives who had been laughing with Owen half an hour earlier took two synchronized steps backward, creating a wide gulf around the disgraced couple.
Bianca’s breath came in ragged, hyperventilating bursts. “You can’t do this to us! The board will never ratify this takeover! We have the executive proxy!”
“You had it,” Vittorio corrected, turning his gaze toward her. “Until twenty minutes ago, when the Securities and Exchange Commission received the audited logs from your offshore dummy corporation in the Caymans. The three million dollars you skimmed from Nico’s medical trust to purchase that diamond necklace around your neck? It constitutes federal wire fraud.”
Bianca’s hand flew to her throat, her fingers clutching the cold diamonds as if they were a lifeline.
“Take it off,” Vittorio said.
Bianca froze. “What?”
“The necklace belonged to my mother,” Vittorio said, his dark eyes boring into hers with predatory focus. “She gave it to Elena on our wedding day. You took it from Elena’s vanity table the night you had her dragged out of this house. Take. It. Off.”
“No!” Bianca shrieked, backing into a decorative marble plinth and sending a vase of white lilies crashing to the floor. “It’s Vance property! I am a Vance! You’re just a disgrace who married an orphan!”
Julian gave a slight nod.
Two female security officers, built like decathletes and wearing pristine gray blazers, moved forward without hesitation. One pinned Bianca’s wrists behind her back with mechanical ease, while the other reached up, unsnapped the diamond clasp with a single fluid motion, and stepped away.
Bianca screamed in fury, struggling like a feral cat against the guard's grip, but the officer didn’t budge an inch.
The female guard walked over to Vittorio and handed him the glittering chain.
Vittorio held the diamonds in his scarred hand for a moment. He didn't pocket them. Instead, he knelt beside Nico’s wheelchair and draped the priceless necklace over the nose cone of the balsa-wood airplane.
“Keep this safe for your mother, Nico,” Vittorio whispered.
Nico’s lower lip trembled, but his eyes were bright with a strange, burgeoning awe. “Is Mom really coming to get it, Dad?”
“She’s already on her way,” Vittorio said softly.
He stood back up, looking around the room. The silence of the elite guests was absolute. Men who managed billions of dollars stood motionless, their champagne glasses frozen at chest level, terrified that making eye contact with Vittorio Vance might bring the Sterling Syndicate’s wrath down upon their own firms.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Vittorio announced, his voice carrying clearly into the rafters. “The reception is over. The catering staff and musicians will receive three months’ full severance, paid immediately via Sterling Global wire. As for our esteemed investors…”
He paused, letting his eyes sweep across the circle of pale faces.
“…if your firm has conducted any business with Bianca or Owen Vance over the last thirty-six months, you have until noon tomorrow to self-disclose your records to Mr. Julian. If you do not, our forensic teams will audit your books from the outside in.”
Within five seconds, the room began to drain. Dignitaries, executives, and socialites practically trampled one another toward the grand exits, muttering apologies and pulling out their smartphones to call their chief legal counsels.
Within three minutes, the grand ballroom was empty, save for the hired security, the shattered glass, and the ruined couple on the floor.
Owen remained on his knees, staring blankly at the wet carpet. “What do you want from us, Vittorio? You took our money. You took the house. What else do you want?”
Vittorio stepped closer, leaning down until his shadow completely engulfed Owen’s huddled form.
“I want what you took from Elena,” Vittorio murmured. “Her name. Her mind. Her three years of life.”
He straightened his tuxedo cuffs, looking over at Julian.
“Have the local sheriff arrived?”
“They are waiting in the driveway, sir,” Julian replied, tapping his tablet screen. “Along with the special agents from the federal task force. The director of the Saint Jude facility in Savannah broke forty minutes ago. He surrendered his private client ledger.”
Owen looked up, his jaw dropping in sheer horror. “No… Bianca, you swore that was encrypted!”
Bianca slumped against the wall, her expensive gown crumpled, her eyes wild and hollow.
“Hand them over,” Vittorio said, turning his back on them completely and grabbing the handles of Nico’s wheelchair. “And Julian?”
May you like
“Yes, Mr. Sterling?”
“Seal this entire manor. Nico and I won't sleep in a mausoleum built on lies. Bring the medical helicopter to the north lawn. My wife is waiting for us.”
