Chapter 7 - The Noon Council
The boardroom of Sorel Enterprises sat on the forty-second floor of a sleek glass tower overlooking the gray expanse of Lake Michigan. The room was soundproofed, reinforced with corporate-grade counter-surveillance technology, and currently filled with the scent of expensive cigars and nervous sweat.
Eight men sat around the massive walnut table. These were the capos of the Sorel syndicate—men who controlled the gambling, the construction unions, the shipping docks, and the extortion rings across three states. They were hardened criminals, men who had killed for their seats, and right now, they were terrified.
Stefan sat at the head of the table, his posture relaxed, his hands flat on the wood.
But it was the person sitting to his immediate right that had the room shifting in their seats.
Nadia wore a tailored charcoal wool suit, her hair pulled back into a sleek, professional bun, her face a mask of serene composure. In front of her sat a thin, black encrypted laptop. She looked like a high-level corporate attorney, but the way her gray eyes scanned the room made several of the older men look down at their papers.
"Where is Irina?" asked Silvio, the oldest capo, a man who had served Stefan’s father. "Her father is asking why her phone is dead. We have a treaty with the Kelso family, Stefan. We can't just drop her from the board without an explanation."
"Irina Kelso is currently in a holding facility in Rosemont," Stefan said, his voice cutting through the room like a razor. "And her father is currently reading a report delivered to his house by Lev two hours ago. A report detailing how his daughter tried to use a federal weapons shipment to destroy both of our families."
A collective murmur went through the room.
"Who found the leak?" asked Marcus, the younger, ambitious capo who managed the south side docks. "Our internal security team didn't report any anomalies."
Stefan turned his head slightly, his eyes landing on Nadia. "My wife found it."
Marcus let out a short, dismissive chuckle before he could stop himself. "Your wife? Stefan, with all due respect, Mrs. Sorel handles the charity galas. She doesn't know the difference between a manifest and a tax return."
Nadia didn't wait for Stefan to defend her. She touched her keyboard.
The large projection screen behind Stefan flickered to life. Instantly, Marcus’s private bank records from an institution in the Cayman Islands appeared in high-resolution detail, alongside a series of encrypted text messages sent from his personal phone to an untraceable number in Belgrade.
Marcus’s face went gray in a matter of seconds. He tried to stand, his hand moving toward his jacket, but before his fingers could clear his lapel, Lev’s heavy hand clapped down on his shoulder from behind, pinning him to the chair with bone-crushing force.
"The south side docks have been under-reporting their grain shipments by four percent for six months, Mr. Marcus," Nadia said, her voice smooth, calm, and utterly devoid of mercy. "You told the council it was due to supply chain delays from the winter storms. But the automated weight sensors on Pier 4—which I accessed through the city’s municipal port authority database—show the trucks were at maximum capacity when they left the yard. You were selling the surplus to Kaspar Velin’s buyers and routing the cash through your cousin’s construction company."
She closed her laptop with a soft, definitive click.
"If you're going to steal from my husband, Marcus, you should at least learn how to clear your browser history."
The remaining capos sat in absolute, stunned silence. Silvio looked from the screen to Nadia, his old eyes widening with a mixture of terror and profound respect. He slowly crossed his hands on the table and nodded to her.
"The mouse has teeth," Silvio whispered.
May you like
"The mouse is running the house now, Silvio," Stefan said, standing up. "Lev, take Marcus out. The south side docks are now under Nadia’s direct supervision. Anyone who has an issue with that can discuss it with me outside."
No one said a word.
