Chapter 6 - The Pawn's Gambit
I pushed open the double oak doors of the high-floor reception room. Rain tapped softly against the high glass windows, overlooking the glowing lights of the Bellevue skyline.
Arthur Gable sat in a leather armchair, nursing a glass of bourbon. He didn't look like a high-level corporate assassin; he looked like a tired, graying rat who had spent too many years crawling through dark alleys for cheap checks.
He looked up as I walked in, his eyes scanning my navy dress, taking in my calm, unhurried posture.
"Mrs. Mercer," Gable said, setting his glass down on the mahogany table. "Or do you prefer Miss Mercer now?"
"I prefer you state your business before my security team removes you from this building by your collar," I said smoothly, stopping five feet from him, resting my hand lightly on the edge of a glass table.
Gable chuckled, reaching into his jacket. "Ethan told me you were tough. He said you turned into ice after the divorce. I didn't believe him until now."
He pulled out a manila envelope and tossed it onto the table. It slid across the polished wood, stopping inches from my fingers.
"Inside that envelope are certified copies of the 2011 Helios Pharma distribution logs," Gable said. "Along with your forged signature approving the European supply chain expansion three weeks after the initial toxicity report was flagged in Zurich."
I didn't touch the envelope. I simply looked at him, my dark eyes cool and unbothered. "Ethan forged my signature fifteen years ago when he was serving as our outside legal auditor. He kept that document as leverage in case my father ever tried to cancel the merger."
"It doesn't matter if it's a forgery, Victoria," Gable smiled thinly. "In the court of public opinion, a signature is a signature. If this drops on the internet in twenty minutes, every donor in that ballroom downstairs will pull their funding. Your foundation will be tied up in international litigation for five years. Your reputation will be ruined."
"What do you want, Mr. Gable?" I asked softly.
"Five million dollars," Gable said without missing a beat. "In liquid Bitcoin. You transfer the funds to an account I provide, and I give you the master flash drive containing the only digital copies of the Helios files. Ethan stays in his cell, screaming into the void, and you go back downstairs to your party."
I stared at him for three long seconds. Then, a quiet, genuine laugh escaped my lips.
Gable’s smug smile faltered. "What's so funny?"
"You think you're blackmailing me," I said, leaning in close so he could see the absolute absence of fear in my eyes. "You came into my building, during my event, thinking that I would pay five million dollars to hide a fifteen-year-old ghost created by Ethan Vance."
"I'm not playing games, Victoria!" Gable snapped, standing up, his face reddening. "I have a timer set on my phone! In fifteen minutes, an automated script will broadcast these files to three hundred news outlets and your foundation's primary financial board!"
"Go ahead," I said, gesturing toward his phone. "Press the button."
Gable blinked, utterly caught off guard. "What?"
"Press it," I repeated, my voice dropping into a razor-sharp register. "Let the files drop. Because while Ethan was sitting in his cell dreaming up this childish scheme, my legal team spent the last three hours preparing the complete, unredacted Helios records—including the Swiss banking trail showing Ethan Vance receiving a two-million-dollar kickback from Helios executives to hide those toxicity reports from my father and me."
Gable’s face turned ghastly pale. His mouth opened, but no sound came out.
"Did you really think I wouldn't audit my own history after Ethan was arrested?" I asked, taking a step toward him as he instinctively backed away. "I found his offshore kickback account eighteen months ago, Mr. Gable. I kept it in reserve, waiting for him to try to use Helios against me."
I reached down, picked up the manila envelope, and tossed it into the small brass fireplace near the wall. A flame caught the edge of the paper, blackening the documents within seconds.
"You aren't walking out of here with five million dollars," I told him as the heavy mahogany doors behind him clicked open. Logan Vance and two armed private security officers stepped into the room. "You're walking out of here in federal custody for extortion, corporate espionage, and conspiracy with a convicted felon."
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Gable dropped his phone. It clattered against the hardwood floor. He sank into his chair, baring his face in his trembling hands, completely broken.
"Take him downstairs," I instructed Logan calmly. "And give the federal prosecutor in Colorado a call. Tell them Ethan Vance just added ten years to his federal sentence."
