Chapter 5 - The Montigue Ultimatum
At 7:00 AM sharp, a silver Bentley pulled up to the gates of the Blackwood estate.
Arthur Montigue—a powerful, grey-haired man of sixty with cold aristocratic features and a bespoke suit—stepped out, flanked by four armed personal bodyguards. He walked into Victor’s private study with the arrogance of a man who believed his family name made him untouchable.
"Victor!" Arthur demanded, slamming his silver-topped cane against the hardwood floor. "What is the meaning of this insolence? My daughter did not come home last night! Her phone is off! Your guards stopped my men at the perimeter! If this is some sick mafia mind game—"
Victor didn't get up from behind his massive mahogany desk. He was casually cutting the tip off a Cuban cigar with a silver blade.
"Sit down, Arthur," Victor said, his voice flat and expressionless.
"I will not sit down!" Arthur roared. "Where is Serena? We have a contract! The shipping merger is scheduled for next month! You will bring my daughter out here right now, or I will pull every political favor I hold in Washington to crush your network!"
Victor lit his cigar, took a long drag, and exhaled a thick cloud of blue smoke into the air between them.
"Mikhail," Victor said softly.
Mikhail stepped forward from the shadows, placing a leather binder on Arthur’s lap.
Arthur frowned, opening the binder with annoyance. "What is this trash?"
"That," Victor explained calmly, "is a detailed record of every offshore account your family holds in Panama, Switzerland, and Liechtenstein. It also includes video footage from last night showing your daughter violently snapping the arm of my fourteen-month-old son."
Arthur’s eyes darted down the pages. His face went through a terrifying transformation—from arrogance, to confusion, to absolute, paralyzing horror.
"She... she did what?" Arthur stammered, his fingers trembling as he looked at the medical photographs of Ethan’s fractured arm attached to the report.
"She mistreated my heir," Victor said, leaning forward, resting his elbows on the desk, his ice-blue eyes piercing Arthur like dagger tips. "And she planned to murder him after our wedding so she could claim my estate."
Arthur swallowed hard, wiping sweat from his forehead with a silk handkerchief. "Victor... look... this... this is a terrible mistake! Serena is young, she’s high-strung, she... she wasn't thinking clearly! We can fix this! I will send her to a private psychiatric clinic in Switzerland! She will never set foot in America again!"
"She isn't going to Switzerland, Arthur," Victor said coldly.
"Then where is she?!" Arthur yelled, his voice cracking with desperation.
"She is in a steel box," Victor replied. "And that is where she will remain for the rest of her life unless you sign the papers on page fifty."
Arthur frantically flipped to the back of the binder.
"This... this is a total transfer of all Montigue shipping assets in Chicago!" Arthur gasped, looking up in disbelief. "You're stripping my family of our entire enterprise! You're ruining us!"
"I am giving you a choice," Victor corrected him smoothly. "You sign over the ports, pack your bags, and leave the state of Illinois by midnight tonight... or I release the video footage to every news outlet in the country, hand the financial fraud records to the FBI, and let Dante handle you and your daughter personally."
Arthur stared at Victor. He looked into the eyes of the man known as the Ghost of Chicago, and he realized there was no room for negotiation. No mercy. No escape.
With a shaking hand, Arthur pulled a golden pen from his coat pocket and signed every page.
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"Where is my daughter?" Arthur asked, his voice broken, tears of defeat streaming down his aged face.
"She will be delivered to your private jet at the airport at eleven-fifty-nine tonight," Victor said, taking another drag of his cigar. "If I ever see a Montigue in Chicago again... I won't bother with contracts."
