Chapter 14 - The Dead Man Walking
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The elevation of a maid to the second-highest position in a major criminal syndicate sent absolute shockwaves through the organization. Elias and the loyalist enforcers, however, did not question the decision. They had seen Grace’s lethal efficiency in the dining room; they respected blood and action, and she had provided both.
Grace’s transformation was swift and stunning. The practical uniforms were discarded, replaced by sharp, tailored designer suits that exuded power and authority. She moved into a massive, luxurious suite in the west wing, occupying an office directly adjacent to Daniel’s private study.
But the business of running an empire requires tying up loose ends, and there was one massive, pathetic loose end currently rotting in the subterranean basement.
“It is time to deal with Julian,” Daniel announced late one evening, pouring two glasses of scotch in his study and handing one to Grace.
Grace took the glass, taking a slow sip. “The Commission expects an execution, Boss. Showing mercy to a usurper will be interpreted as a fatal weakness.”
“I have no intention of showing mercy,” Daniel said coldly, staring into the amber liquid. “But a simple bullet is too good for the man who tried to murder me and sell my legacy to the Russians.”
They descended into the cold, damp basement together, flanked by Elias.
Julian was huddled in the corner of his soundproof cell, looking like a starved, terrified animal. He hadn't slept in days, driven mad by the silence and the impending certainty of his gruesome death.
When the heavy steel door hissed open, Julian scrambled backward, sobbing hysterically.
“Danny, please!” Julian wept, pressing himself against the concrete wall. “I’ll leave the country! I’ll never speak to anyone again! Just let me live! I’m your brother!”
“You ceased to be my brother the moment you poured the liquid on those stairs,” Daniel replied, his voice a low, terrifying void of emotion.
Daniel stepped into the cell, tossing a heavy, manila folder onto the small metal cot.
“What is this?” Julian gasped, staring at the folder as if it were a bomb.
“Those are the finalized deeds transferring every single asset, trust fund, and property in your name directly to the syndicate’s central holdings,” Daniel explained smoothly. “You are completely, legally bankrupt. You do not own the clothes on your back.”
“You’re taking everything?” Julian whimpered.
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“I am taking my money back,” Daniel corrected. He looked at Elias. “Take him to the harbor. Put him on a freighter bound for the deepest, most miserable labor camp in Siberia. Ensure the captain knows that if Julian ever sets foot on American soil again, the entire crew dies.”
Julian screamed, thrashing wildly as Elias dragged him out of the cell, his pathetic cries echoing down the concrete hallway until they finally faded into the dark.
