Chapter 7 - THE MORNING AFTER
By 8:00 AM, the sun rose over the city, casting a pale, cold light through the high arched windows of the Citadel.
While the rest of the city woke up, poured coffee, and turned on the morning news, the financial network Bloomberg Market Watch broke a breaking headline that shocked the region’s real estate sector:
COLE INFRASTRUCTURE FACES TOTAL LIQUIDATION AS PORT LOCKDOWN STRIKES RIVERFRONT PROJECT; CEO RICHARD COLE UNREACHABLE.
In his luxury penthouse overlooking the river, Adrian Cole sat on the edge of his unmade king-sized bed.
His eyes were bloodshot, his hair matted with sweat. He was still wearing his tuxedo trousers from the night before, his crisp white shirt unbuttoned and stained with scotch. The dark purple bruises from Dominic’s fingers were fully formed around his throat, making every breath feel like swallowing glass.
His phone had been ringing continuously for three hours.
Ring.
Ring.
He looked at the screen. WARREN VOSS — BOARD MEMBER.
He ignored it.
Ring.
MAYOR'S OFFICE.
He ignored it.
Then, his private landline buzzed. He reached out with a trembling hand and picked up the receiver.
"Adrian!" his mother’s voice shrieked into his ear, so loud he had to pull the phone away. She was sobbing hysterically. "Adrian, where are you?! The bank just sent two men to the gates! They’re repossessing the cars! They’ve locked the main house!"
"Mom..." Adrian rasped, his throat raw and painful. "Where's Dad?"
"He's in his office! He won't open the door! Arthur Sterling left an hour ago—he said there's nothing he can do! He said... he said the people behind this have files on every politician in the state!" Margaret sobbed uncontrollably. "Adrian, what did you do to that girl?! Who are those men?!"
"I didn't know..." Adrian whimpered, grabbing his head with his hands, tears streaming down his bruised face. "I didn't know who her family was..."
"Fix it!" Margaret screamed. "Go to her! Beg her! Crawl on your knees if you have to! They are taking everything, Adrian! They've frozen my jewelry vault! They've canceled my credit cards!"
The line went dead.
Adrian dropped the receiver onto the floor. He stumbled out of bed, his legs weak, and walked toward the floor-to-ceiling glass windows.
Down on the street below his penthouse building, three large flatbed tow trucks were already parked by the curb. Security guards in black uniforms were loading his private collection of sports cars—his custom Italian red convertible, his vintage German coupe—onto the back of the beds.
Standing on the sidewalk, holding a clipboard and wearing an immaculate gray coat, was Nico Moretti.
May you like
As if sensing Adrian’s gaze from forty stories up, Nico slowly raised his head, looked directly up at the penthouse window, and gave a sharp, mocking two-finger salute.
Adrian backed away from the window, collapsing onto his carpet, shivering in absolute, unadulterated terror.
