Chapter 6 - The Hidden Microphone
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Over the next forty-eight hours, Julian wasted absolutely no time dismantling his brother’s carefully constructed empire.
He moved directly into Daniel’s mahogany-paneled study, occupying the heavy leather chair as if he had been born to sit in it. He immediately began summoning the most ruthless, aggressive lieutenants in the syndicate—the men Daniel had intentionally sidelined for being too violent and unpredictable.
Grace moved through the estate like a phantom. She served coffee, polished the silver, and emptied the wastebaskets, completely ignored by Julian and his new inner circle.
She was carrying a silver tray of espresso cups into the study on Tuesday afternoon.
“The Russian cartel is offering a massive premium for the weapons shipments through the southern ports,” Julian was saying to a scarred, brutal capo named Marco. “Daniel was a fool to decline their money over some archaic moral code.”
“Opening the ports to the Russians will bring the feds down on us, Julian,” Marco warned, hesitating.
“I own the feds now,” Julian sneered arrogantly, leaning back in Daniel’s chair. “Execute the deal. I want the cash flow doubled by the end of the month.”
Grace quietly set the tray down on the coffee table. As she arranged the cups, she smoothly and invisibly slid a small, high-tech adhesive microphone directly beneath the lip of the heavy oak desk. It was no larger than a dime, provided by Elias from the security vault.
“Is that all, sir?” Grace asked softly, keeping her eyes glued to the floor.
“Get out,” Julian snapped dismissively, not even glancing in her direction.
Grace bowed her head and slipped out of the room. She walked quickly down the back servant corridors, taking a hidden service staircase down to the subterranean security hub.
Elias was sitting in front of a massive bank of monitors, wearing heavy headphones. He looked up as Grace entered, pulling one ear cup back.
“The mic is live,” Elias confirmed, tapping the glowing audio waveform on his screen. “I’m recording everything. He’s explicitly authorizing the sale of illegal weapons to the Russian syndicate. It’s a direct violation of the Commission’s absolute peace treaty.”
“He is going to get the entire family slaughtered by the Commission,” Grace whispered, her blood running cold.
“That’s why we are going to burn him first,” a weak, raspy voice echoed from the doorway.
Grace spun around.
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Daniel stood in the doorway of the security hub. The paralytic had worn off, though he still looked pale and moved with a slight, agonizing stiffness. He walked into the room, leaning heavily against the console, his gray eyes burning with an apocalyptic fury.
“He wants to play king,” Daniel murmured, listening to his brother’s arrogant voice transmitting through the speakers. “Let’s build him a guillotine.”
