Chapter 5 - The Shadows in the Manor
We arrived at the grand iron gates of the ancestral Vance Manor, the sprawling fifty-acre estate where Harold had lived and died. The once-glorious limestone mansion was now overgrown with wild ivy, its grand driveways cracked and littered with dead branches.
This was the property Julian had used as collateral for his high-interest loans from the European underworld syndicate known as the Markov Group. Three black armored trucks with foreign diplomatic plates were already parked in the circular courtyard, surrounded by armed mercenaries in heavy tactical gear.
As my convoy pulled up, the mercenaries raised their automatic rifles, stepping into a defensive perimeter around the front steps. My private security detail exited our vehicles in synchronized formation, weapons concealed beneath tailored coats, creating an impenetrable wall of steel around me.
The heavy front doors of the manor opened, and a tall man with a scarred cheekbone and an expensive tailored wool coat walked out onto the stone landing. It was Viktor Markov, the ruthless syndicate enforcer who managed illegal debt collection across the Eastern Seaboard.
"You have five seconds to turn those shiny trucks around before my men open fire," Markov shouted in a thick Slavic accent, holding an unlit cigar. "This estate belongs to the Markov Group until Julian Vance pays his twenty-million-dollar gambling and margin debt."
I stepped out from behind my security line, walking calmly across the wet flagstones with my hands resting casually in my overcoat pockets. "The debt was twelve million this morning, Viktor; your interest rates are as predatory as your reputation."
Markov narrowed his dark eyes, inspecting my face through the pouring rain before a sudden flicker of shock registered across his scarred features. "Lucas Vance... the Chairman of Vanguard Global Logistics."
"I purchased the primary commercial notes on your offshore shipping fleet in Cyprus two hours ago, Viktor," I said, stopping ten feet from the armed men. "Which means if a single bullet leaves those barrels, your entire maritime logistics network will be seized by federal marshals in international waters by three o'clock."
Markov stared at me for three agonizing seconds, realizing with terrifying clarity that his entire syndicate's logistical lifeline was in my hands. He slowly raised his hand, signaling his men to lower their weapons and stand down immediately.
"Julian told us you were dead," Markov said, spitting his cigar onto the wet stone. "He swore on his mother's soul that he was the sole heir to the Vance fortune and that no one would contest the title."
"Julian is a pathological liar who is about to learn what happens when you write checks against another man's life," I replied, tossing a corporate folder onto the steps. "You will clear your men off my grandfather's land within thirty minutes, and you will hand over every financial record Julian signed in your private clubs."
May you like
Markov picked up the folder, reviewing the corporate transfer documents before giving me a curt, respectful nod. "Julian is hosting a private victory gala tonight at the Palm Beach Yacht Club; he believes his private jet departs for Switzerland tomorrow morning."
"He won't make the flight," I said, looking up at the grand limestone arches of my grandfather's house. "Tonight, the golden boy is going to meet the ghost he tried to erase."
