Chapter 5 - THE FINANCIAL GUILLOTINE
Thursday morning at the Vance estate was a scene of absolute chaos.
Thanks to Miller's cloned access to their home security cameras, I sat in the war room watching Marcus and Beatrice absolutely lose their minds.
Marcus was pacing the length of his grand study, slamming his fists onto his mahogany desk. "It's gone! All of it! The Cayman accounts, the corporate trust, the checking accounts! Every single cent has been wired out!"
Beatrice was hyperventilating on a leather sofa, clutching a glass of gin. "What do you mean it's gone?! The gala is tomorrow night! I have caterers to pay! The Rojas cartel is expecting their wire transfer on Friday!"
"The mechanic did this!" Marcus screamed, his face purple with rage and panic. "He hacked us! He drained everything!"
"He's a grease monkey!" Beatrice shrieked. "How could a grease monkey steal forty million dollars overnight?!"
I pressed a button on my console, overriding their home audio system. My voice echoed from the surround-sound speakers built into the ceiling of their study.
“I told you, Beatrice,” my voice resonated through the mansion, cold and deep. “I didn't come here to prune the roses.”
Marcus jumped back, looking wildly at the ceiling. Beatrice dropped her glass of gin; it shattered on the floor.
“You have twenty-four hours until the cartel realizes you gave their money to the DEA,” I continued. “Enjoy your gala.”
The line went dead.
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In the war room, Cross let out a low whistle. "Commander, that is psychological warfare at its finest. They are going to completely crack."
"That's the point," I said, leaning back in my chair. "They tortured my daughter for three days. I want them to feel every second of terror they inflicted on her, multiplied by a thousand."
