Chương 14 - Cold War in Silk
The Grand Ballroom of the Drake Hotel was bathed in amber chandeliers, dripping in old Chicago money and suffocating arrogance.
It was the annual Gold Coast Foundation Gala—an event nobody in high finance could afford to miss, especially tonight. Rumors about our morning press conference had already cratered the Mercer & Holloway pre-market trading by four percent.
When Vivian and I walked through the double doors, the string quartet might as well have stopped playing. The room went unnervingly quiet.
Vivian was breathtaking. She wore an open-back backless gown of deep emerald silk that swept the floor, her wrists circled in platinum cuffs. She held my arm with a grip that looked effortless to the cameras, but I could feel the steel in her muscles.
I wore a classic black tuxedo, walking with the slow, predatory confidence of a man who owned the ground beneath his feet, even if the ground was made of dynamite.
"Look at them," Vivian murmured into my ear, offering a brilliant, radiant smile to a passing bank president. "They think we're bleeding out. They're circling to see who gets the scraps."
"Let them circle," I replied, adjusting my cuff. "Sharks get reckless when they smell blood. That's when you spear them."
Across the ballroom, standing near the champagne fountain, was Damon Mercer. Beside him stood Elena Cross, the high-powered, razor-sharp trial attorney who had managed to keep Julian out of immediate federal custody on twenty-million-dollar bail.
Damon spotted us. He raised a flute of Dom Pérignon in mock salute and whispered something to Elena.
"Play your part," Vivian whispered, her voice tightening. "Elena is a predator. If she sees a single crack in our front, she will file that injunction in district court before breakfast."
"I don't play parts, Vivian," I said, sliding an arm around her bare waist and pulling her slightly closer, feeling the silky heat of her skin. "I set the board."
We walked directly toward them, slicing through the cluster of socialites who parted like the Red Sea.
"Little sister," Damon sneered as we approached, his eyes glassy with champagne and spite. "I see you brought the hired help to the party. Did you tell him about the trust clause yet? Or are you waiting until the grand jury hands down the indictment?"
"Damon," Vivian said coolly, her voice dripping with venomous polite indifference. "I see rehab didn't take for the third time. How tragic."
Elena Cross stepped forward, a shark in a tailored midnight-blue evening gown. Her smile was purely professional, engineered to terrify defendants. "Mr. Sterling. A pleasure. I represent Mr. Vance. We have reason to believe that certain internal financial documents presented to the DOJ by your office were obtained in violation of attorney-client privilege. In fact, we have metadata showing your personal login credentials accessing confidential accounts three days before Julian's arrest."
She took a slow sip of her drink, her gaze piercing.
"Julian didn't forge those offshore accounts, Mr. Sterling. Someone used his private terminal. And that someone was using an encryption key registered to Arthur Sterling's old estate holdings."
She tilted her head, her smile turning razor-thin.
"Did Vivian tell you that? Or did she let you believe you were just being clever with a USB drive in the server room?"
I felt Vivian stiffen beside me. The room around us seemed to blur.
Elena wasn't bluffing. She had the system logs.
"Arthur Sterling's firm closed ten years ago, Ms. Cross," I replied, keeping my voice smooth as silk, showing neither fear nor hesitation. "And if you think a dead man's dormant server key holds up against a sworn SEC subpoena, you should ask for Julian's retainer back in cash."
Damon laughed, a harsh, grating sound. "You're an idiot, Sterling. She’s using you as the lightning rod! The moment the feds knock, Vivian’s hands are completely clean, and you spend the next twelve years in Terre Haute Federal Penitentiary!"
"Is that your legal strategy, Elena?" Vivian interjected, stepping between Damon and me, her voice ringing with deadly authority. "Relying on the paranoid hallucinations of a brother who was disinherited by our father for stealing from the family foundation?"
"It’s not paranoia if we have the hard drive, Vivian," Elena whispered.
She opened her small clutch purse, pulled out a gold-plated flash drive, and held it between two manicured fingers.
"The original mirror image of Julian’s server from the night you raided it," Elena said softly. "Delivered to my hotel suite this evening by a member of your own executive committee. One of your loyal sheep has decided to switch wolves."
Elena slipped the drive back into her purse, nodded politely, and turned away with Damon in tow.
Vivian stood frozen, the color draining from her lips.
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"We have a mole," she whispered, her voice barely audible over the clinking glasses of the ballroom. "On the executive committee."
***
