Chapter 5 - The First StrikeThree days later, the underworld began to shift, and nobody knew why.
Dominic Vane sat at the head of the mahogany table in the downtown warehouse office, casually tossing a dart at a corkboard dartboard. Around the table sat four regional captains—men who had recently pledged their loyalty to Dominic under the assumption that Vincent Corvino was a permanent vegetable.
"The old man is done," Dominic scoffed, leaning back in his leather chair and blowing smoke from a Cuban cigar. "He hasn't left his bedroom in half a year. The lawyers are drafting the papers to transfer the shipping routes to my control by the end of the month. All we have to do is stay patient."
Suddenly, the heavy metal door of the warehouse office burst open.
A frantic lieutenant named Paul stumbled inside, his face pale, clutching a stack of printed financial documents like they were burning his hands.
"Boss—Dominic—you need to see this. Now."
Dominic frowned, waving the cigar dismissively. "What is it, Paul? Did the dock workers strike again?"
"No," Paul gasped, dropping the papers onto the conference table. "The federal bank freeze. They just locked all three of our primary offshore accounts. Every single cent in the shell companies—gone. Flagged for money laundering and tax evasion."
The room went dead silent. The color drained completely from Dominic's face. He lunged forward, grabbing the papers. His eyes scanned the account numbers, the freezing orders, and the official federal seal.
"This is impossible," Dominic choked out, his voice cracking. "These accounts were secure! Who authorized this? How did the feds get the routing numbers?"
"That's not the worst of it," Paul continued, his voice trembling. "The shipping union just received an anonymous tip with full documentation of your kickbacks, Dominic. The federal prosecutor's office has a grand jury subpoena waiting for you. If you walk outside right now, federal agents will be waiting in your driveway."
Dominic slammed his fist onto the table, shattering a glass of water. "Find who did this! Find the leak! Was it one of the accountants? Was it Arya?"
Unknown to Dominic, miles away in a sunlit corner of Vincent's mansion, Tessa sat at a small laptop connected through a secure, encrypted proxy server. Her fingers danced across the keyboard as she finalized the transfer of the frozen funds into a neutral account controlled entirely by Vincent's loyalists.
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Vincent sat in his wheelchair by the window, watching the afternoon sun beat down on the courtyard. He held a cup of black coffee in his steady hand, a faint, cold smile playing on his lips.
The wolf was still in his den. But the hunt had begun.
