Chapter 8 - The Legal Strike
Dawn was breaking over the Manhattan skyline when a mud-caked, bruised boy walked into the pristine, glass-walled lobby of Hawthorne & Associates.
The security guard at the front desk immediately stood up, reaching for his radio. "Hey, kid, you can't be in here. Are you lost?"
"I need to see Mr. Hawthorne," Julian said, his voice completely devoid of childhood innocence. It was the voice of Arthur Vance. "Tell him Julian Vance is here. And tell him I brought the East Wing files."
Five minutes later, Julian was sitting in a massive corner office overlooking Central Park. Richard Hawthorne, a ruthless, silver-haired legal shark, sat across from him, staring at the contents of the manila envelope.
Hawthorne plugged the flash drive into his laptop. As he scrolled through the data, his face turned pale, then hardened into a mask of pure, lethal professionalism.
"She bought thallium through a shell company in the Cayman Islands," Hawthorne whispered, taking off his glasses. "She’s been siphoning the trust funds for three years. My god, Julian. She nearly killed him."
"She’s going to kill Mrs. Gable," Julian said, his voice finally cracking, a single tear escaping his eye. "You have to stop her."
Hawthorne stood up, buttoning his suit jacket. The shark had smelled blood in the water.
"Arthur was my best friend before he was my client," Hawthorne said coldly. "Victoria thought she could outplay the house. She forgot who built it."
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Hawthorne picked up his phone and dialed a direct line to the regional director of the FBI.
"Frank? It's Richard Hawthorne. I need a tactical raid team authorized for the Vance estate immediately. Yes, the Vance estate. Attempted murder, grand larceny, and corporate fraud. I have the smoking gun. We are going hunting."
