Chapter 7 - The Contract of Protection
The speakerphone in Arthur Holloway’s office clicked twice, followed by the wet, breathless voice of Trent Holloway.
“Dad? Did you talk to the police commissioner? I’m telling you, the super here is threatening to call the precinct because of the door, and I need someone to tell the eighth district to back off—”
“Trent,” Arthur said. The older man’s voice was cracked, stripped of all its corporate authority. “Shut your mouth.”
A pause on the line. Trent’s tone shifted instantly from demanding to petulant. “Dad, what is your problem? I’m dealing with Claraara. She’s being hysterical, she’s hiding with some—”
“Trenton!” Arthur roared, slamming his open palm down onto the teak desk. “Shut your mouth and listen to me or I will cut your throat myself!”
Silence dropped over the line like a guillotine.
“Drop the bottle,” Arthur commanded, his eyes fixed on Victor Vance, who stood five feet away, perfectly still. “Drop whatever you are holding. Step out of that apartment. Do not touch another piece of paper. Do not look at the neighbors. Get into your car and drive here immediately.”
“Dad, you don't understand, she has my—”
“If you are not through the front doors of this building in twenty minutes,” Arthur whispered, his voice shaking with pure, unadulterated terror, “I will sign the transfer orders that strip you of your name, your trust, and your license before midnight. You are done here, Trent. You have touched something that does not belong to you, and you have destroyed this family.”
“What are you talking about? Who did she go to?”
“Drive,” Arthur choked out. “Now.”
Arthur hit the red disconnect button with a shaking finger. He slumped forward over his desk, his face buried in his hands, his shoulders heaving with silent, dry sobs.
Victor did not look at him with contempt. Contempt required emotional investment. Victor regarded him with the same detached assessment an engineer applied to a cracked foundation.
“Leo,” Victor said.
“Yes, boss.”
“Call the team on 8th Street. Tell them to let the boy leave. Then have the cleaning crew go in. I want the door repaired, the lock replaced with a high-security Medeco deadbolt, and every piece of damaged furniture removed to the curb before dawn. Hire an interior designer from the gallery on 5th Street to replace everything with identical or superior quality.”
“Understood, Mr. Vance.”
Victor turned back to Arthur Holloway. “The transfer papers for his partnership share. Have them on my desk by noon tomorrow. If I do not see the signed Calgary transit manifest by 3:00 PM, the bank receives the acceleration notice.”
May you like
He did not wait for an answer. Victor walked out of the office, his heavy overcoat flaring slightly behind him, leaving the old man alone in the glass tower with the ruins of his dynasty.
---
