Chapter 9 - The Boardroom Ambush
The grand boardroom on the fortieth floor of the Grand Continental Hotel smelled of expensive Cuban cigars and fear.
Twelve senior syndicate directors and corrupt municipal magistrates sat around a forty-foot mahogany conference table.
At the head of the table stood Dominic Cole, wearing a bespoke charcoal suit with a black silk tie.
A projector screen behind him displayed the corporate charter of Cole Enterprises, illuminated under bright stage lights.
"Ryan's vehicle was discovered burned beyond recognition at the base of the Elm Street bridge," Dominic declared, his voice carrying feigned sorrow.
"The medical examiner's preliminary report confirms third-degree burns consistent with high-impact collision," Dominic lied smoothly.
Several older board members exchanged uneasy glances, well aware of the bloody history of Cole family successions.
"In accordance with the founding bylaws established by Vincent Cole," Dominic continued, raising a gold fountain pen, "the executive shares pass directly to the surviving male heir."
"You forgot to file the death certificate, Dominic," a cold, baritone voice echoed from the heavy double doors at the back of the room.
The entire boardroom went dead silent.
The mahogany doors swung wide open with a resounding crack that bounced off the vaulted glass ceiling.
Ryan Cole stepped into the room, his dockworker jacket open to reveal the blood-soaked bandages across his chest.
His hair was damp from the harbor rain, his steel-gray eyes fixed upon his cousin with lethal precision.
Behind him walked Emma Reed, holding a high-capacity semi-automatic pistol leveled at the ceiling.
Beside Emma stood Clara Reed, clutching Julian's master audit ledger against her chest.
Gasps erupted around the mahogany table as three elderly directors leaped out of their executive leather chairs.
"Ryan?" an older board member gasped, his cigar falling from his lips onto the polished floor.
Dominic's face turned the color of curdled milk, his hand freezing above the executive succession documents.
"You're dead," Dominic choked out, his arrogance crumbling into raw, animal panic.
"The hit squad at Elm Street failed," Ryan said, walking down the center aisle with measured, deliberate strides.
"The sniper on the harbor gantry crane failed," Ryan added, stopping ten feet from the podium.
"And Marcus Hale has already signed a full confession detailing your contract with the Chicago syndicate," Ryan stated.
Dominic slammed his palms onto the mahogany table, glaring at his cousin with bared teeth.
"Security!" Dominic roared, pointing a trembling finger at Ryan.
"Take them down right now!" Dominic screamed to the four Chicago enforcers stationed around the perimeter of the room.
The enforcers reached beneath their jackets for their automatic weapons, but Emma didn't give them the chance.
She fired a single round into the heavy glass chandelier hanging directly above the rear security team.
The three-hundred-pound crystal fixture broke from its brass ceiling mount, crashing onto the two rear guards in an explosion of glass.
Ryan drew his sidearm with blinding speed, firing two controlled double-taps into the shoulders of the remaining two gunmen.
Both enforcers dropped their weapons with cries of agony, collapsing against the oak-paneled walls.
Panic erupted throughout the executive suite as board members dove beneath the massive table for cover.
Dominic lunged toward the open briefcase on the podium, grabbing a snub-nosed revolver from the inner compartment.
"I spent five years waiting for my turn in Chicago while you played the legitimate prince!" Dominic screamed, leveling the weapon at Ryan's chest.
"You were going to hand our fathers' legacy over to the federal government!" Dominic shouted, his finger tightening on the trigger.
Emma stepped forward, raising her father's pistol, but Clara acted first.
With a desperate cry of defiance, Clara threw the heavy leather ledger directly into Dominic's face.
The heavy brass corners of Julian's binder struck Dominic across the bridge of his nose, breaking his aim.
The gunshot exploded toward the ceiling, shattering a recessed halogen light in a shower of sparks.
Ryan closed the distance in a single stride, catching Dominic's wrist and twisting the joint until bone cracked audibly.
Dominic screamed in agony, the snub-nosed revolver falling harmlessly onto the mahogany table.
Ryan drove his elbow into Dominic's solar plexus, sweeping his cousin's legs out from under him with ruthless force.
Dominic crashed heavily onto his back, gasping for breath as Ryan pinned him to the floor with a combat boot on his throat.
Ryan pressed the smoking barrel of his sidearm against the center of Dominic's forehead.
"Who ordered the hit on my father five years ago, Dominic?" Ryan demanded, his voice chillingly calm.
Dominic choked beneath the pressure of Ryan's boot, blood dripping from his broken nose onto his white collar.
"It wasn't me... I swear to God it wasn't me!" Dominic wheezed, his eyes wide with genuine terror.
"It was Vincent!" Dominic confessed, his voice echoing across the silent, terrified boardroom.
"Vincent gave the order to poison Arthur's whiskey during the Christmas dinner!" Dominic cried out.
"Arthur was going to name Julian Reed as the public trustee of the entire foundation!" Dominic revealed.
"Vincent couldn't let an auditor take control of the family treasury!" he gasped.
The surviving board members listened in stunned horror from beneath the mahogany table.
The myth of the benevolent patriarch had been shattered forever in the span of thirty seconds.
Emma walked over to the podium, her gun lowered, and picked up her father's battered leather ledger.
She looked down at Dominic, her eyes filled with cold, vindicated clarity.
"Julian Reed never stole a single dollar from this syndicate," Emma declared, her voice carrying through the immense room.
"Julian Reed spent his entire life protecting the city from monsters like you and your grandfather," she stated.
Dominic began to laugh, a wet, hysterical chuckle that bubbled through the blood in his teeth.
"You think... you think you won, Ryan?" Dominic wheezed, staring up into Ryan's unyielding eyes.
"Vincent knew you would survive the docks," Dominic mocked, coughing up red foam.
"He knew you would come here to clear your name," Dominic rasped.
Ryan's eyes narrowed, his boot pressing harder against his cousin's throat.
"What did Vincent do?" Ryan demanded.
Dominic pointed a bloody finger toward the massive glass window overlooking the southern horizon of the city.
"Vincent left the country two hours ago on his private Gulfstream," Dominic revealed with a sadistic grin.
"He initiated the executive emergency wipe protocol from the air," Dominic laughed hysterically.
"Every offshore server, every financial account, and every shell corporation is being purged as we speak," Dominic gloated.
"And he sent an anonymous tip to the Department of Justice," Dominic whispered.
"Framing you, Emma, and Clara for the murder of Arthur Cole and the harbor massacre," Dominic revealed.
"Federal tactical teams are breaching the ground floor lobby right now," Dominic choked out.
Sirens began to wail in unison from the street forty floors below, dozens of emergency cruisers converging on the hotel.
Ryan looked out the shattered panoramic window toward the street, seeing a sea of flashing red and blue lights.
The trap had not been set by Dominic.
May you like
Dominic had merely been the bait, cast aside by the true architect of the empire.
Vincent Cole had burned his own kingdom to the ground just to ensure no one else could ever rule it.
