Chapter 8 - The Brother's Gambit
Julian stood frozen, the firelight dancing across the sweat glistening on his forehead.
“Michael, that’s insane,” Julian stammered, shaking his head with a hollow, desperate laugh. “You think I would hurt a baby? My own nephew? For corporate shares?”
“Not just for shares, Julian,” Frank said, stepping forward while holding his tablet. “For your life.”
Frank tapped the screen and read aloud from an encrypted intelligence briefing. “Two weeks ago, Julian Carter took out a forty-million-dollar margin loan through Eastern Commerce Bank to cover short positions against Baltic dry index shipping futures.”
Julian swallowed hard, his throat clicking in the quiet room.
“The market surged on Monday,” Frank continued, looking up from the tablet with cold eyes. “Julian’s positions were liquidated. The bank issued a margin call for forty-two million dollars due at midnight tonight.”
“And who controls Eastern Commerce Bank, Julian?” I asked, taking another step forward.
Julian sank back into the leather armchair, his hands trembling so violently that the ice in his glass rattled against the crystal.
“The Solokov syndicate,” Julian whispered, his voice cracking like dry wood. “They own the holding group behind Eastern Commerce.”
“The Russian shipping cartel,” I said, feeling an icy fury settle deep into my bones. “The same cartel we pushed out of Boston Harbor three years ago.”
“They cornered me in Manhattan, Michael!” Julian cried, burying his face in his hands as the facade completely shattered. “Three armed men dragged me into a private room at the St. Regis last Thursday! They said if I didn't deliver the voting shares of Carter Maritime by Friday morning, they would put two bullets in the back of my head and dump me in the East River!”
“So you decided to murder my infant son instead?” I roared, closing the distance in an instant and hauling him up by the lapels of his cashmere sweater.
Julian gasped for air, his feet barely touching the rug as I pinned him against the stone mantle. “I didn’t want him to die! They promised me it wouldn’t hurt him!”
“You put a lethal narcotic patch on a six-month-old child!” Emily yelled, her composure finally breaking as she pointed at the foil wrapper on the table. “That dose stops the diaphragm within twenty minutes! His brain was starved of oxygen! He was dying in my arms!”
“They said it was a temporary sedative!” Julian wept, tears streaming down his face as he gripped my wrists. “They told me the patch would make Noah slip into a mild coma for forty-eight hours! Just long enough for you to abandon the board meeting and grant me temporary executive power to sign over the harbor leases!”
“You’re lying,” Frank said coldly, stepping up beside me. “You used Dr. Harrison’s prescription pad. You had the courier deliver a sealed box marked with instructions to leave the patch on all night.”
“I didn’t write those instructions!” Julian pleaded, looking into my eyes with sheer terror. “The cartel sent the courier! They told me if I didn't clear the west gate with my master override code, they would kill my wife and daughters in Connecticut!”
I stared into my brother’s face, searching for a shred of humanity, but saw only the wretched, spineless cowardice of a man who would trade an innocent baby’s life to save his own skin.
“Where is the courier now, Julian?” I asked, my voice dropping to a terrifying whisper.
“He... he was supposed to meet me at the marina in Gloucester at midnight,” Julian sobbed. “To collect my signed transfer of the Carter trust shares.”
I released his sweater, and Julian crumpled onto the Persian rug like a discarded rag.
I turned to Frank, my mind working with cold, military precision. “What time is it?”
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Frank checked his tactical watch. “Ten-forty-five PM, boss.”
“We have seventy-five minutes,” I said, drawing the Kimber .45 from my waistband and racking the slide with a crisp, metallic snap. “Frank, prep the offshore interceptor boat. We’re going to Gloucester.”
