Chapter 4 - The Unwelcome Guests
I watched the live security feed with a mixture of disgust and cold fascination.
Michael had not hesitated for a single second to sacrifice my life in exchange for his own.
He eagerly gave the armed enforcers the address of a luxury hotel downtown, assuming I had checked in there for the night.
“He really is a coward,” David whispered, standing over my shoulder.
The syndicate enforcer threw Michael violently to the floor.
“If the old man doesn't have our money, we are coming back here to skin you alive,” the enforcer threatened.
The armed men stormed out of the house, leaving Michael and Sarah trembling on the ruined carpet.
I closed the video feed and turned to David.
“They are heading to the Plaza Hotel,” I said calmly.
“But they won't find me there.”
David looked at his watch, his face pale with anxiety.
“Mr. Sterling, these men will quickly figure out the hotel was a dead end.”
“With their underground connections, it won't take them long to track the license plate of this limousine.”
“They will eventually find this penthouse.”
I stood up and walked toward the massive glass window overlooking the city.
“I am counting on it,” I replied confidently.
David stared at me as if I had completely lost my mind.
“You want the Petrov syndicate to find us?” David asked in disbelief.
“I don't just want them to find us,” I explained.
“I am going to offer them a business proposition they cannot possibly refuse.”
For the next three hours, I prepared my home office for the inevitable confrontation.
I printed out decades of hidden financial ledgers, tax loopholes, and encrypted bank records.
I arranged them neatly on the glass coffee table in the center of the room.
At exactly noon, the private elevator in the hallway suddenly stopped working.
The heavy steel doors leading to my penthouse were violently blown open by a small explosive charge.
Smoke filled the entryway as six armed men poured into my living room, their weapons raised and ready.
David immediately dropped to the floor, covering his head in terror.
I remained perfectly still, sitting comfortably in my leather armchair.
A tall, imposing man with a thick grey beard and cold blue eyes walked slowly through the smoke.
It was Viktor Petrov himself, the undisputed boss of the city's largest crime syndicate.
He pointed a silver handgun directly at the center of my forehead.
“You have a very large debt to pay, Mr. Sterling,” Viktor stated with a thick Russian accent.
I did not flinch, nor did I beg for mercy.
I simply picked up a manila folder from the glass table and tossed it toward his feet.
“I don't owe you a single dime, Viktor,” I said evenly.
“But according to these federal indictments, you are about to lose seventy million dollars to the IRS by Friday.”
Viktor lowered his gun slightly, a look of deep suspicion crossing his scarred face.
He gestured for one of his men to pick up the folder and hand it to him.
Viktor opened the file and began to read the documents.
His cold blue eyes suddenly widened in absolute shock.
“How did you possibly get access to my private offshore accounts?” Viktor demanded, raising the gun again.
May you like
I smiled calmly and leaned forward in my chair.
“Because twenty-five years ago, I was the anonymous ghost accountant who saved your father from dying in federal prison.”
