Chapter 8 - The Reckoning in the West Wing
The private executive offices of Vale Meridian Holdings were completely deserted during the gala—or so Grant Holloway had assumed.
The CFO stood in front of the primary data terminal on the thirty-ninth floor, his hands flying across the keyboard, sweat beading on his forehead as the progress bar for the server wipe inched forward: 84%... 85%...
“You’re typing with the wrong hand, Grant,” a cold, echoing voice resonated from the doorway.
Holloway spun around so fast he knocked his leather briefcase off the desk.
Luca Vale stood in the center of the office doorway, his hands casually tucked into his trouser pockets, his tuxedo jacket buttoned. Behind him stood Mara, holding a printed hard copy of the federal wire transfer records.
Holloway’s face turned the color of ash. He backed up against the console, his eyes darting frantically toward the private elevator.
“L-Luca... I can explain,” Holloway stammered, raising his hands defensively. “The Zurich acquisition... it’s just restructuring! It’s standard corporate maneuvering—!”
“Restructuring involves spreadsheets, Grant,” Luca said, taking a slow, deliberate step into the room. “Selling classified shipping routes to Silas Harrow and laundering kickbacks through shell companies involves a federal penitentiary.”
Holloway realized the game was over. The panic in his eyes suddenly curdled into bitter, desperate rage. He reached inside his jacket, his hand flashing toward a concealed snub-nosed revolver.
“If I’m going down, you arrogant bastard, you’re coming with—”
Before Holloway could even clear the holster, Mara moved with astonishing speed. She didn't hesitate; she grabbed a heavy brass crystal decanter from the side table and hurled it across the room with pinpoint accuracy.
The heavy decanter struck Holloway’s wrist with a sickening crack, sending the revolver clattering across the marble floor.
At the same instant, Luca closed the distance across the room, grabbed Holloway by the lapels of his designer suit, and slammed him against the glass wall of the office, lifting him an inch off the floor.
Holloway choked for air, clawing frantically at Luca’s wrists.
“You thought you could break my company?” Luca whispered, his voice like the grinding of tectonic plates. “You thought you could hurt the person who keeps this place running?”
“Boss!”
Daniel burst through the private elevator doors, followed by three security officers. He took in the scene in a single glance and immediately secured Holloway, slapping industrial zip ties around the CFO’s wrists and hauling him toward the elevator.
As the doors closed on Holloway’s terrified face, the office fell silent once more.
Luca turned around slowly. His chest rose and fell with controlled fury. He walked over to Mara, his eyes searching her face with fierce, overwhelming intensity.
“Are you insane?” Luca demanded, his voice cracking with the ghost of real fear for the first time in his life. “He had a gun! You threw a crystal decanter at an armed man!”
Mara stood her ground, her chin raised, her dark eyes flashing with unyielding fire.
“He was trying to shoot you,” she said, her voice shaking slightly now that the adrenaline was fading. “I wasn't going to let him.”
Luca stared at her. All the walls he had built, all the emotional armor he had worn like a second skin for thirty-eight years, dissolved into dust before the fierce, loyal, breathtaking woman standing in front of him.
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Without a word, Luca closed the remaining distance, grabbed her by the waist, and pulled her against him, crushing his lips down onto hers in a kiss that was fierce, possessive, and long overdue.
Mara gasped against his mouth, then instantly melted into him, her arms wrapping around his neck as the world outside the glass tower faded entirely away.
