Chapter 13 - The Syndicate’s Last Stand
The fallout was catastrophic and immediate. The next morning, the financial news networks were playing the security footage of Grandpa’s poisoning on an endless loop. The stock of Sterling Industries plummeted initially, but as the SEC cleared the company of the syndicate’s influence, investors began to rally behind the "miracle grandson" who had saved the empire.
I sat in Grandpa Arthur’s massive corner office on the top floor of the Sterling Tower in Manhattan. The FBI had frozen Robert and Eleanor’s assets. Julian and Victoria, completely cut off from the family fortune and suddenly penniless, were being investigated for accessory charges.
But there was one loose end. The Volkov Syndicate.
My office phone rang. It was an encrypted line. I answered it.
"Mr. Sterling," a heavy Russian accent rasped through the speaker. "You have caused us a great deal of trouble. Robert owed us five hundred million dollars. Since you have claimed his throne, you inherit his debt. You have twenty-four hours to wire the funds, or we will rain hell on your life."
I leaned back in the plush leather chair, looking out at the New York skyline. A few weeks ago, a threat like this would have sent me into a panic attack. But I had survived my uncle. I had survived the warehouse. I was no longer afraid.
"Let me make something very clear to you," I said, my voice steady and cold. "I have just forwarded the entire ledger of your offshore money laundering operations to Interpol. Every shell company, every hidden account, every dirty politician you own—it’s all burned. If you ever contact me again, or if you even look at my company, I will spend the next billion dollars ensuring your organization is hunted to extinction. Do we understand each other?"
There was a long silence on the line. Then, a soft click. He hung up.
I placed the phone down. The Volkovs were businessmen. They knew a lost cause when they saw one. They would cut their losses and scatter.
Suddenly, the door to my office opened. I looked up, expecting my new secretary.
May you like
Instead, a man in a sharp black suit with his arm in a sling walked in. He had a bandage over his left eye and looked like he had been run over by a truck, but his posture was as rigid as ever.
"Thomas," I breathed, standing up so fast my chair tipped over.
