Part 5: A trap laid in gold.
Part 5: A trap laid in gold.
At 8:00 AM the following morning, the fifty-fourth floor of the Harrison Tower was quiet.
Marcus Sterling walked out of the private executive elevator, holding a leather briefcase, wearing his usual impeccably tailored grey suit. He adjusted his silk tie, checking his gold Patek Philippe watch. He had no idea that Veronica had been arrested six hours earlier—my father had used his political influence to place an immediate media blackout on the arrest to prevent Marcus from fleeing.
Marcus believed today was the day he would finally execute the final phase of his plan. Today, David was scheduled to sign over the management rights of the family's offshore holdings to Marcus's division.
He pushed open the heavy mahogany doors of the executive boardroom, expecting to see his legal team.
Instead, the long glass conference table was empty, save for one person sitting at the far end.
David Harrison sat in the high-backed leather chair. His suit was dark, his hair impeccably combed, and his eyes were completely unreadable. Standing right beside him was me, wearing a simple black blazer, my bruised cheek unhidden.
Marcus froze for a fraction of a second, a flicker of hesitation crossing his eyes before his practiced corporate smile slid back into place.
"David! Maya!" Marcus said smoothly, stepping into the room and setting his briefcase on the table. "I didn't expect you both here so early. Maya, dear, what happened to your face? Did you have a little fall?"
"Cut the act, Marcus," David said. His voice was so cold it seemed to drop the temperature in the boardroom by ten degrees.
Marcus paused, his smile faltering slightly. "David? What’s wrong? You look exhausted. Is everything okay with the contract signing?"
"The contract signing is canceled," David replied quietly. He pressed a button on the table’s master control panel.
The massive wall-sized display screen behind David flickered to life. Instantly, the video from my cracked phone began playing on a twenty-foot screen in ultra-high definition. Marcus’s voice echoed through the high-end speakers, filling the empty boardroom: "Once David signs the revised trust fund documents tomorrow, we'll push the girl out of the picture..."
Marcus’s face turned from a healthy bronze to a sickening, ash-grey color. His hand, still resting on his briefcase, began to tremble violently.
"David... listen to me," Marcus stammered, taking a step backward toward the exit. "That’s... that’s a deepfake. Someone is trying to sabotage our friendship! You know me! I’ve been your best friend for twenty years!"
"Twenty-two years, Marcus," David corrected him, standing up slowly. "I gave you your first job. I made you a partner. I trusted you with my family’s security after my wife died. And you paid me back by sleeping with my wife and paying two hitmen fifty thousand dollars to run my seventeen-year-old daughter off a cliff."
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Marcus reached behind his back, his hand desperately grabbing the brass handle of the boardroom door.
He pulled. The door didn't budge. It was electronically locked from the outside.
