Chapter 3 - The Inner Circle
The conference room doors were still locked from the outside. When Damon re-entered with Ruby still clinging tightly to his neck, the six men were sitting exactly where he had left them. No one had dared to move. The tension in the room was now palpable, crackling like static electricity before a lightning strike.
At the far end of the table, Victor Lane was pouring himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher. His hand was remarkably steady for a man whose life was hanging by a thread, but Damon caught the microscopic twitch in the muscle near his jaw.
Damon handed Ruby to one of his trusted female administrative assistants who had been waiting in the hallway. “Take her to my private study,” he instructed softly. “Put on a cartoon. Do not let her out of your sight.”
Once the heavy oak doors clicked shut behind them, Damon walked slowly toward the head of the table. He didn't sit down. He placed both palms flat on the mahogany surface and leaned forward, his dark eyes sweeping over the men who had built empires under his banner.
“The perimeter gate was bypassed twenty minutes ago,” Damon said, his voice entirely devoid of inflection. “At the exact time an administrative override was executed using a master code.”
Silence draped over the room like a heavy shroud.
Victor Lane set his glass down, the crystal clinking softly against the polished wood. He looked up, meeting Damon’s gaze with an expression of mild, almost paternal concern.
“A security breach on grounds this size is troubling, Damon,” Victor said smoothly, folding his hands on the table. “Perhaps we should reconvene this meeting once your house is secure. The port acquisition in California cannot wait for domestic issues.”
“Domestic issues,” Damon repeated, the words rolling off his tongue like venom.
He straightened up and walked slowly down the length of the table, stopping directly behind Victor’s chair. The older man didn’t turn around, but Damon saw the rigid line of his shoulders.
“Fourteen years ago, Victor, you pulled me out of a burning warehouse in Tucson,” Damon said quietly, the memory hanging heavily between them. “You took a bullet to the shoulder. You bled for this family. For years, I trusted you with my accounts, my properties, and the names of every man who ever tried to cross me.”
“And I have never given you reason to regret that trust,” Victor replied, his voice steady.
“Then explain to me why your private digital signature was used to disable the south security grid at 9:14 AM,” Damon snapped, slamming his palm onto the table with a force that made the crystal glasses jump.
The men around the table recoiled. Victor finally turned his head, a faint, sad smile touching the corners of his mouth.
“Systems can be spoofed, Damon. You know that as well as I do. Someone in your IT department—”
“My IT department doesn’t have the master encryption key,” Damon interrupted, leaning down until his face was inches from Victor’s ear. “Only you, me, and a dead man in Chicago possess it. And considering I checked the Chicago archives this morning, that man is still very much in his grave.”
Victor went completely still. The mask of calm professionalism slipped away, replaced by something cold and calculating.
“You always were too thorough for your own good,” Victor whispered, leaning back in his chair.
“Where is Selena?” Damon demanded, his hand dropping toward his holster.
May you like
“Gone,” Victor replied calmly. “Along with a few documents your little maid happened to stumble upon while cleaning my private suite on the second floor yesterday evening. She’s a curious girl, Damon. She doesn’t belong in our world, yet she had the unfortunate habit of looking at papers she had no business reading.”
Damon’s vision blurred with red. In one fluid motion, he drew his pistol, cocked the hammer, and pressed the cold steel barrel directly against Victor Lane’s temple.
