Chapter 13 - The Rot WithinThe name on the digital wire transfer receipt wasn't Marcus Hawthorne. It wasn't a rival syndicate leader or a shadowy third-party contractor.
It was Harrison Vance—not a relation to Arthur Vance, but the executive vice president of Hawthorne Industries' international logistics division and one of Julian’s most trusted, long-standing board members. A man who had sat at Julian’s dining table, smiled at Elena, and clinked glasses with him at corporate galas for over a decade.
Julian stood frozen in the glare of the security lights, the papers trembling slightly in his grip. The betrayal wasn't just external; it was systemic. The rot had woven its way into the very fabric of the company he had inherited from his father.
"Mr. Hawthorne?" Arthur Vance whispered from the other side of the gate, his voice laced with panic. "I gave you what you needed. Please... you have to protect me. Give me immunity, put me in witness protection—"
"Get in the back of the security cart," Julian interrupted, his voice terrifyingly calm.
The accountant blinked, stunned. "W-what?"
"You heard me," Julian commanded, unlocking the pedestrian side-wicket of the gate with his biometric fob. "My security team will secure you in the lower guest quarters. If every word of what you just showed me checks out, you'll walk out of here with a federal witness protection package funded by my personal estate. If you're lying to save your own neck, you'll wish Marcus had gotten to you first."
Arthur didn't hesitate. He scrambled through the gate, practically diving into the back of the electric cart as the security guards flanked him with practiced efficiency.
Julian climbed back into the driver's seat, his mind racing at light-speed. Harrison Vance was scheduled to fly to Zurich tomorrow morning to finalize the European logistics acquisition—a massive, multi-billion-dollar expansion that would grant him absolute operational control over half of Hawthorne Industries' foreign assets.
If Harrison boarded that plane, he would vanish into the Swiss banking network forever, taking the truth about Elena’s abduction and the conspiracy against the Hawthorne family with him.
Julian pulled out his encrypted satellite phone as the cart sped back toward the manor.
"Pietro," Julian said the moment the line connected on the other end. (Though Pietro had retired to Biloxi, Julian still maintained a direct, secure line to his former most trusted confidant for moments of absolute crisis.)
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“Boss,” Pietro’s gravelly voice came through the speaker, crisp and instantly alert. “It’s 1:00 AM. You don't call this number unless the house is on fire.”
"The house isn't on fire, Pietro," Julian replied, his voice dropping into a dark, razor-sharp register. "But I need a favor from a man who knows how to ground an airplane before it leaves the tarmac."
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