Chapter 7 - The Final Gambit
By eleven-thirty in the morning, the tension inside the penthouse command center had reached a boiling point.
Multiple monitors mounted on the far wall displayed live feeds of the New York Harbor, the Red Hook shipping docks, and the exterior of an upscale steakhouse in TriBeCa where Victor Thorne had requested the noon meeting.
Marcus, Gabriel’s head of security, stood beside the main console tapping away at a secure laptop.
“Federal task force has executed the warrants at all three Red Hook warehouses, Boss,” Marcus reported crisply, his eyes scanning the digital readouts. “Thorne’s primary accounts in the Cayman Islands have been frozen by the SEC. His cargo ships have been ordered to port by the Coast Guard. The man is officially bankrupt.”
Gabriel stood near the window, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the midday traffic crawl across the bridges below. He wore a tailored charcoal suit once more—armor for the final confrontation.
“And Thorne?” Gabriel asked.
“Sitting in the TriBeCa steakhouse waiting for his noon appointment,” Marcus smirked. “He thinks he’s about to inherit half of Cross Freight. He’s sipping vintage scotch and checking his watch every thirty seconds.”
Claire walked into the command center, holding a cup of juice for Julian while Noah and Leo played quietly with a tablet in the corner under the watchful eye of a female security guard. She stopped beside Gabriel, looking up at the monitors.
“It’s almost noon,” Claire said quietly. “Are you going to meet him?”
“No,” Gabriel said, turning around. “I’m sending a message.”
He picked up his secure satellite phone and dialed a direct line. It rang twice before a furious, panicked voice blasted through the speaker.
“Cross! It’s about damn time! You got my message?”
“I got your message, Victor,” Gabriel said, his voice calm, level, and utterly devoid of fear.
“Where are you? The noon deadline is up. You bring the transfer papers?”
“I’m standing in my penthouse seventy-five floors above you, looking down at your pathetic little life,” Gabriel replied smoothly. “In fact, if you look out the window of your steakhouse right now, you’ll probably see federal marshals walking through your front doors.”
A dead, horrified silence hung on the line for three seconds.
“What... what did you say?” Thorne choked out, the bravado completely evaporating from his voice.
“Your warehouses are seized, your accounts are frozen, and your syndicate is history,” Gabriel said coldly. “You threatened my family, Victor. You made the fatal mistake of thinking you could use my sons as leverage. That was your last mistake.”
“You son of a bitch—!”
“Have a nice life in federal custody,” Gabriel said, and hung up the phone without another word. He dropped the burner phone onto the metal desk and crushed it under the heel of his shoe with a single, deliberate crunch.
May you like
Across the room, Marcus watched the live street-cam feed of the TriBeCa steakhouse. Through the glass, they watched federal agents in tactical gear storming through the front doors, swarming Thorne’s table, and slapping steel cuffs onto his wrists before dragging him out past a crowd of shocked lunch patrons.
Victor Thorne’s reign of terror in New York was officially over.
