Chapter 5 - The Velvet Trap
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The boardroom on the sixty-fourth floor of the Varelli Tower smelled of expensive leather, Cuban cigars, and quiet arrogance.
Twelve men sat around the polished glass table, all cousins, lieutenants, and senior executives loyal to Silas.
At the head of the table sat Silas, his face pale, dark circles shadowing his eyes.
Beside him sat Grant Varelli, leaning back with a smug grin, already checking the stock futures on his tablet.
"Silas, you look terrible," Grant chuckled, pouring himself sparkling water.
"Rumor has it Laurel made quite a scene last night."
"Shut your mouth, Grant," Silas warned, his voice low and vibrating with menace.
The heavy mahogany double doors swung open before Grant could reply.
Every head in the room snapped toward the entrance.
Laurel walked in.
She was not the subdued, quiet hostess who had served turkey and poured wine the night before.
She wore a charcoal power suit, black heels that struck the marble floor like hammer blows, and not a trace of makeup over the faint purple bruise on her cheek.
She looked like an executioner arriving on time.
Silas stood up so fast his chair screeched against the floor.
"Laurel."
She didn't glance at him.
She threw a thick leather portfolio onto the center of the glass table with a crack that echoed off the high ceiling.
"Page forty-two, gentlemen," Laurel announced, her voice calm and perfectly modulated.
Nobody moved.
"I said turn to page forty-two," she repeated, her gaze locking onto Grant.
Grant’s smile dissolved like salt in water.
"What is this nonsense?" Grant scoffed, his fingers trembling as he touched the binder.
May you like
"That is the record of forty-two million dollars transferred to an unauthorized account in the Cayman Islands under your mother's maiden name, Grant."
The room fell into an icy, suffocating silence.
