Chapter 11 - THE SHADOW COUNCIL
The penthouse ballroom of the Grand Continental Hotel glittered with crystal chandeliers and gold trim.
It was an exact replica of the luxury setting from earlier that night.
Outside, the storm raged on, lightning flashing across the dark city skyline.
Inside, twelve elderly men in tailored black tuxedos sat around a massive oval mahogany table.
These were the board of directors of the Vance Syndicate.
Men who controlled global shipping routes, oil pipelines, and private banks.
At the head of the table sat Arthur Sterling.
He was sipping a glass of rare scotch, looking completely composed and triumphant.
Beside him stood a tall man shrouded in the shadows of the velvet curtains.
The man had long black hair tied back, a sharp jawline, and a missing left pinky finger.
Marcus Vance.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Arthur said, knocking his glass against the solid wood table.
"I bring solemn news."
"Earlier tonight, a tragic chemical leak occurred in our private holding facility."
"Our dear leader, Elena Vance, along with my own unfortunate daughter, Sofia, were lost in the accident."
A collective murmur went through the room, though none of the board members looked genuinely sad.
In this room, death was simply a business transition.
"With Elena’s passing," Arthur continued, leaning forward on his elbows, "and with the fake ring she used to deceive us..."
"...the leadership of the Syndicate officially returns to the senior board."
"And I propose we appoint Marcus Vance—who has miraculously survived his years in hiding—as our new Chairman."
Marcus stepped out from the shadows, his dark eyes sweeping over the wealthy men.
He placed his hands on the table, leaning in.
"My sister was weak," Marcus said, his voice deep and gravelly.
"She played at being a queen, but she had no stomach for real blood."
"Under my rule, our profits will triple."
"All in favor of the transfer?" Arthur called out, raising his glass.
One by one, the board members slowly raised their hands into the air.
Six hands.
Eight hands.
Ten hands.
Eleven hands.
"Motion passed—" Arthur began to say.
BOOM!
The heavy double doors of the boardroom exploded inward in a shower of wood splinters and shattered brass.
The shockwave knocked two board members out of their chairs.
Smoke poured through the doorway, thick and black.
Through the fog walked two figures in matching black tactical armor.
The figure on the left held a silenced submachine gun.
The figure on the right walked with slow, terrifying grace, holding a high-caliber pistol in her right hand.
On her finger, the Pink Emperor Diamond caught the chandelier light, refracting a blinding laser-like pink beam across the mahogany table.
The room went dead silent.
Arthur dropped his scotch glass.
It shattered on the carpet, spilling amber liquid everywhere.
"You..." Arthur gasped, his face turning gray as ash.
Elena lowered her pistol slightly, her eyes locking onto her brother.
"Did you really think thermite could burn away a ghost, Marcus?" Elena said softly.
Beside her, the second figure pulled off her tactical helmet.
Long blonde hair tumbled out.
Sofia glared at her father with absolute, murderous hatred.
May you like
"Hello, Daddy," Sofia whispered, raising her weapon and aiming it straight at Arthur’s chest.
"I brought you your dress back."
