Chapter 11 - Collision in the Concrete
The hum of the sedan's engine felt deafening as we crested the final ridge of the highway, descending back toward the steel-and-glass grid of the city. Rain slicked the windshield, smearing the amber glow of streetlamps into long, bleeding streaks. In the backseat, Grace slept soundly against my chest, her tiny breath rising and falling in a steady rhythm that anchored me against the churning anxiety in my stomach. Beside me in the passenger seat, Dominic kept his profile locked toward the dark window, his left hand—adorned with the heavy gold band on his ring finger—gripping the manila envelope containing Julian’s handwritten confession and the federal bank logs.
We pulled into the subterranean parking garage beneath Caruso Tower thirty minutes later. The air down here always smelled faintly of exhaust and damp concrete, cold and sterile. Dominic shifted the car into park, turning off the engine with a sharp click that echoed in the cavernous space.
"Wait here," Dominic instructed, his voice dropping into a low, protective register as he reached for the door handle.
"Don't go alone," I started, unbuckling my seatbelt, but before I could finish, a pair of sharp headlights flared directly ahead of us, blinding us in a harsh white glare.
A sleek black town car blocked our exit lane. The heavy passenger door clicked open, and Marcus Vance stepped out from the shadows, his tailored gray suit immaculate despite the damp air. Two corporate security guards flanked him, their faces grim and unreadable. Marcus adjusted his cuffs, offering a thin, predatory smile that didn't reach his cold eyes.
"Dominic," Marcus called out, his voice bouncing off the concrete pillars. "We've been looking all over for you. The board is calling an emergency session at dawn, and you seem to have missed the memo about unauthorized off-site excursions."
Dominic stepped out of our car, closing the door firmly behind him. He didn't flinch, nor did he reach for the handle; instead, he stood tall against the glare of the headlights, his beige suit jacket catching the dim fluorescent light.
"You're out of time, Marcus," Dominic said, his voice cutting through the ambient hum of the garage like a razor. "I have the wire transfers. I have the signed affidavits from the regional accounts. Your embezzlement ends tonight."
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Marcus’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, his eyes darting toward the passenger window where I sat holding Grace. A flicker of real panic crossed his features before he hardened his expression again. "You're ruining everything Julian built, Dominic. Hand over the envelope, and maybe the board will let you resign quietly for 'health reasons'."
"Try and take it," Dominic replied coldly, stepping squarely between Marcus and our car.
