PART 2: THE PROTOCOL OF RUIN - And Then What
The sound of the doors hitting the walls made everyone turn.
Arthur Miller,
the Managing Director of the Obsidian Resort Group,
rushed into the hall.
He wasn’t walking.
He was sprinting.
His tie was crooked.
His face was pale,
glistening with sweat.
Behind him walked three men in sharp,
tailored charcoal suits,
carrying encrypted legal folios.
Julian smiled,
thinking his staff was taking out the trash.
“Arthur,
good.
This idiot just ruined my cake.
Have your boys throw him into the street
and
call the police for property damage.”
Arthur didn’t look at Julian.
He didn’t even see the bride.
He ran straight toward the man with the cake on his face.
His knees hit the polished marble floor with a loud,
painful thud.
The managing director of a ten-billion-dollar resort group was on his knees,
bowing his head so low his forehead nearly touched the wet floor.
“Chairman Samuel!”
Arthur gasped,
his voice trembling so violently it cracked.
“Please.
Please forgive this unforgivable insult.
Spare this ignorant boy.
The resort staff…
we didn’t know you were conducting the blind audit tonight.
This is a grave mistake by the Vance family!”
The silence that followed was total.
It suffocated the room.
Julian’s arrogant smile shattered.
His crossed arms slowly dropped to his sides.
His jaw hung open.
He looked at Arthur,
then
at the man in the black vest.
“Arthur…
what are you doing?
He’s a waiter.
Why are you calling him Chairman?”
Evelyn,
Julian’s
mother,
stood up from the VIP table,
her wine glass slipping from her fingers
and
smashing onto the floor.
“Samuel…
Consecour?
The sovereign wealth fund?”
Samuel didn’t look at her.
He pulled a crisp,
white silk handkerchief from his pocket.
Slowly,
with mechanical,
unhurried movements,
he wiped the white cream from his eyes
and
jaw.
His skin was flawless beneath the stain.
Her expression remained a stoic sculpture of pure executive power.
“Your son has a very loud mouth,
Arthur,”
Samuel said calmly,
tossing the soiled handkerchief onto Julian’s polished leather shoes.
“He thinks money gives him the right to push people into cakes.
He thinks his family’s tech company is an empire.”
Samuel turned his eyes to the three men in charcoal suits behind Arthur.
“Terminate every single investment project with this family.
Immediately.”
“Wait!”
Julian’s father,
Richard Vance,
lunged forward from the main table,
his face draining of all color.
“Chairman Samuel!
Please!
Our tech firm is in the middle of a fifty-million-dollar liquidity bridge with your fund!
If you pull the capital,
our stock will default by tomorrow morning’s
opening bell!”
“From this moment forward,
I want them left with absolutely nothing,”
Samuel said.
His voice was flat.
Emotionless.
May you like
A machine delivering a pre-programmed execution.
“Remove all of them from this hall.”
