Chapter 3 - The Party at the Grand Royale
The ballroom of the Grand Royale Casino was a palace of crystal chandeliers, gold leaf, and flowing champagne.
Julian Vane stood at the center of a circle of wealthy investors, wearing a ten-thousand-dollar Italian tuxedo, holding a glass of vintage scotch, laughing loudly as he boasted about his latest real estate acquisition.
"The key to wealth in this city," Julian said, flashing a dazzling, pearly-white smile, "is knowing when an asset is underutilized. You find weak hands, you squeeze, and you take the equity."
"Is that right, Julian?" a deep, rumbling voice echoed from the entrance of the ballroom.
The ambient chatter of two hundred wealthy guests dissolved into instant, suffocating silence.
The heavy mahogany doors of the ballroom swung wide open.
Cole Ashworth walked into the room. He wore a sharp black suit, no tie, his top button undone, flanked by Marcus and six six-foot-four security operatives in black tactical suits. Beside Cole walked Moose, the massive mastiff’s claws clicking with rhythmic, ominous precision against the polished marble floor.
Julian Vane dropped his glass of scotch. It shattered against the floor, amber liquid spraying across his hand-made leather shoes.
"C-Cole?" Julian stammered, his face instantly draining of every drop of color. "What... what are you doing here? I thought you were in Miami until Thursday!"
Cole walked slowly toward the center of the room. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, guests backing away in absolute terror as they recognized the man who controlled the city's shadow infrastructure.
"I came back early, Julian," Cole said, stopping five feet from his former manager. Moose stepped up beside Cole, letting out a low, vibration-heavy growl that made the crystal chandelier crystals tremble above. "I had a sudden urge to visit my mother."
Julian’s eyes darted frantically toward the exit doors, but Marcus and two operatives had already stepped into the frame, locking the heavy brass deadbolts with a loud clack.
"Cole... listen to me," Julian stammered, raising his hands, his palms dripping with cold sweat. "I can explain about your mother's property! The neighborhood went downhill! The house had severe structural foundation issues! I sold it to preserve your investment portfolio—"
"Where was she tonight, Julian?" Cole asked, his voice low and soft—a tone far more dangerous than screaming.
"She... she's in a private assisted living facility in Evanston!" Julian lied desperately, his voice cracking. "A five-star facility! I have the receipts!"
Cole reached into his coat pocket. Julian flinched violently, covering his face.
Cole pulled out a clear plastic bag and dropped it onto the glass table beside Julian. Inside the bag was the thin, torn, frozen wool blanket he had taken off his mother’s shoulders three hours ago.
"She was lying on a sidewalk on 47th Street, Julian," Cole said softly. "In twenty-degree weather. Freezing to death. Eating out of soup kitchen buckets for six months."
The crowd of elite guests gasped softly, horrified glances darting between Julian and Cole.
Julian dropped to his knees, his composure completely collapsing. "Cole! Please! I was in deep to loan sharks! I made a mistake! I was going to put her back in a house next month once my project cleared! I swear on my life!"
"You swore on your life eight years ago when I handed you her key," Cole said, looking down at the groveling man.
Cole turned to Marcus. "Seize every asset registered to his name. TheLincoln Park estate, his bank accounts, his luxury vehicles, his corporate shares. Everything is to be liquidated into a foundation for homeless seniors in Chicago by sunrise."
"Right away, boss," Marcus nodded.
"And Julian?" Cole added, stepping closer and leaning down until his shadow completely swallowed the trembling man. "You shoved my mother down her front steps."
Before Julian could react, Cole’s right fist whipped forward with terrifying velocity, striking Julian squarely across the jaw.
CRACK.
Julian was lifted completely off his feet, crashing onto the marble floor, unconscious before he even hit the ground, his blood pooling against the white stone.
Cole straightened his jacket, wiped his knuckles with a white silk handkerchief, and tossed it onto Julian's chest.
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"Take him to the harbor docks," Cole ordered his men. "Let him spend twenty-four hours in an unheated shipping container so he understands what freezing feels like. Then turn him over to the federal authorities for fraud."
Cole turned on his heel and walked out of the ballroom, Moose following faithfully at his heels.
