Chapter 7 - The Debts of the Arrogant
Inside the wood-paneled study, the only illumination came from a single green-shaded desk lamp casting long amber streaks across rows of leather-bound books.
Cole leaned against the edge of the mahogany desk, crossing his arms over his chest as Dante opened the leather dossier under the light.
Derek Vaughn is twenty-eight years old, an instructor at Apex Grappling who lives on an inflated athletic reputation and his family’s vanity, Dante began.
He drives a leased sports car he cannot afford, and his bravado at the gym stems from knowing his father has always bought his way out of previous assaults.
And his father? Cole asked, his tone ice-cold and stripped of all patience.
His father is Dr. Marcus Vaughn, the chief orthopedic surgeon and majority stakeholder in three private surgical clinics across Cook County, Dante replied.
Cole’s eyes narrowed slightly as a flicker of cold recognition crossed his features.
Marcus Vaughn built those surgical centers using mezzanine loans backed by our offshore capital holding firm four years ago, Cole stated, not asking a question.
Precisely, Dante confirmed, turning a page in the financial portfolio.
Marcus Vaughn is currently thirty-two days delinquent on an eight-hundred-thousand-dollar balloon payment due to Vanguard Holdings, which our subsidiary controls.
He believes he is dealing with a polite corporate lending board in Delaware that will grant him a routine sixty-day extension.
Cole stood up straight, walking over to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the dark expanse of Lake Michigan.
Does the father know where his son is right now? Cole asked, watching the distant whitecaps break against the rocky shoreline.
Marcus Vaughn was notified by Cook County Memorial forty minutes ago that his son was admitted with severe concussive shock and bruised trachea trauma, Dante answered.
The father is currently in the executive suite of his River North clinic, threatening to sue Apex Grappling and demanding police reports against the unknown patron who assaulted his boy.
A chilling, razor-thin smile touched Cole’s lips, though his eyes remained as cold as winter stone.
Call Marcus Vaughn on his personal line right now, Cole commanded softly, turning back toward the mahogany desk.
Dante pulled an encrypted satellite phone from his coat pocket, dialed an unlisted ten-digit number, and pressed the speaker button before placing it on the desk.
The phone rang three times before a breathless, arrogant voice barked through the receiver.
Who is this, and how did you get this private frequency? Marcus Vaughn demanded, background hospital monitors and angry rustling papers audible over the line.
Dr. Vaughn, Cole spoke into the open air of the study, his voice carrying the calm authority of an absolute monarch.
This is Cole Moretti.
A sudden, suffocating pause killed every sound on the other end of the line, followed by the muffled clatter of a fountain pen dropping onto glass.
Mr... Mr. Moretti, Marcus stammered, all previous arrogance evaporating into a thin, trembling wheeze.
I apologize for my tone, sir, I was not expecting a personal call from Vanguard Holdings at this hour of the night.
Your son, Derek, spent his evening choking my wife unconscious on the mat of a public gym, Cole said, his words enunciated with surgical precision.
He laughed while she tapped, he mocked her pain, and then he invited me to step forward and test his strength.
Oh, God, Marcus whispered, the sound of his breath catching violently in his chest as his entire world tilted on its axis.
Mr. Moretti, please... Derek did not know, he is reckless, he has no idea who your family is, I swear on my life he did not know who she was.
Ignorance does not reduce the cost of an invoice, Doctor, Cole replied, leaning over the phone with terrifying stillness.
Tomorrow morning at eight o’clock, Vanguard Holdings will call in the entire twelve-million-dollar mortgage portfolio on all three of your surgical facilities.
By noon, the state medical licensing board will receive a formal audit regarding your clinics’ prescription irregularities and undocumented narcotics billing.
Mr. Moretti, that will ruin me, Marcus cried out, his voice cracking into sheer panic as he wept openly over the speaker.
That will destroy my career, my practice, everything I have built for thirty years, please, tell me what I have to do to make this right.
You will go to your son’s hospital room tonight, Cole instructed, each word dropping like a lead weight onto the doctor’s conscience.
You will explain to him the exact magnitude of the disaster his arrogance has brought upon your bloodline.
Then you will put your River North estate up for immediate liquidation, pay your outstanding debts, and ensure your son never steps foot in the city of Chicago again.
If I ever see Derek Vaughn’s face within fifty miles of Sarah, I will not call your bank, Doctor; I will send Dante to collect the interest in bone.
Cole reached out his hand and pressed the red disconnect button, cutting off the doctor’s frantic sobs in the middle of a sentence.
He looked up at Dante, whose expression remained completely impassive.
May you like
Ensure the foreclosures are signed at dawn, Cole said.
Understood, Boss, Dante murmured, taking the dossier and vanishing quietly into the shadows of the hallway.
