Chapter 6 - The Chicago CouncilThe grand ballroom of the Drake Hotel in Chicago was heavily guarded by men in tailored suits and earpieces. The Kane family council was an ancient institution, consisting of the twelve elders who controlled the various factions of the empire—logistics, shipping, banking, and the darker, unmentionable enterprises.
Vivienne Kane sat at the head of the massive mahogany table, looking radiant in a white pantsuit, her hair perfectly coiffed. Beside her stood Julian Kane, a handsome, sharp-featured man in his early thirties with eyes as cold as a winter night.
“Roman has compromised our security,” Vivienne announced to the murmuring elders. “He has brought a girl from the streets into our inner circle. He has allowed his emotions to dictate his actions. He is no longer fit to hold the Kane ring.”
“And what of the rumors regarding your daughter, Clara?” an elderly man at the end of the table asked, his voice raspy. “And the secret will?”
Julian stepped forward, his voice smooth and persuasive. “Fabrications, Uncle. Clara has been in a private medical facility for her own protection due to mental instability. Roman fabricated the will to legitimize his commoner wife’s child. The true succession lies with the senior bloodline.”
Suddenly, the heavy double doors of the ballroom shuddered.
The two guards stationed outside were thrown through the doors, crashing onto the polished floor.
Through the dust and smoke, Roman Kane walked in. He wore a flawless black tuxedo, his presence commanding the entire room instantly.
But he wasn't alone.
I walked beside him. I wore a crimson velvet gown that highlighted my pregnancy, my head held high, covered by a matching crimson silk wrap. I looked like a queen marching into battle.
And behind us, supported by Marcus but walking on her own two feet, was Clara Kane.
The ballroom erupted into chaotic shouting. Several elders stood up, their chairs screeching against the floor.
“You brought a dead woman and a pregnant street-girl to a council meeting?” Julian mocked, though his hand subconsciously reached inside his jacket for his firearm.
“I brought the truth,” Roman said, his voice cutting through the noise like a scythe.
He threw the original, sealed file of his father’s will onto the center of the table. It slid across the polished wood, stopping right in front of the oldest elder.
“Read it, Lord Harrison,” Roman commanded.
Harrison, a man who had served Roman’s father for forty years, adjusted his glasses and opened the file. As his eyes scanned the pages, his face grew pale. He looked up at Vivienne, then at Julian, and finally at my stomach.
“It’s authentic,” Harrison whispered. “The watermark, the biometric signature... it’s all here. The empire belongs to Roman’s daughter. And Vivienne... you have violated the primary code of the family.”
Vivienne’s mask completely shattered. She jumped to her feet, pointing a trembling finger at me. “She is nothing! She is a parasite from Queens! I will see this family burn before I let her child sit in the high chair!”
“Then let it burn,” Roman said softly.
He raised his hand.
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In an instant, the glass windows of the ballroom shattered as red laser dots appeared on the chests of every single elder loyal to Vivienne, including Julian.
The trap was sprung.
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