Chapter 5 - The War of Shadows
The backlash from the boardroom raid hit Chicago like a financial earthquake.
Within forty-eight hours, Bennett Development stock plummeted by twenty-four percent. Investors panicked, demanding an immediate audit of Blake’s offshore accounts, while the city council quietly tabled the South River zoning permit pending the outcome of Victoria Vance’s lawsuit.
In the master suite of Harrison Bennett’s Lake Forest mansion, father and son sat in total chaos.
"He’s destroying us!" Blake yelled, pacing wildly across the Persian rug. "Dominic Vale is systematically buying up our short-term debt through secondary lenders! If he converts those notes into equity, he’ll own thirty percent of Bennett Development by next month!"
Harrison sat in his leather armchair, staring blankly at a glass of cognac. His face looked ten years older. "Vale isn't doing this for money. He has more money than he can spend. He’s doing this to erase us."
"We have to fight back!" Blake spat, his eyes wide with desperate rage. "We hire private security! We find dirt on Emma! We take the baby back!"
Harrison looked up, his eyes cold and dark. "You idiot. Do you think Dominic Vale plays by courtroom rules? If we touch that child, Vale will unleash every shadow in this city on us. We need leverage of a different kind."
Harrison picked up his encrypted satellite phone and dialed a number he hadn't called in fifteen years.
"Who are you calling?" Blake asked, trembling.
"Marcus Rostov," Harrison whispered.
Blake gasped. Marcus Rostov was the head of the Rostov Syndicate—a ruthless Eastern European crime family that operated out of Toronto and had been locked in a bitter, bloody turf war with the Vale family for two decades.
The phone connected. A harsh, raspy voice answered in Russian, followed by accented English. "Harrison Bennett. I thought you were a respectable businessman now."
"I need a favor, Marcus," Harrison said, his voice dropping into a dark register. "Dominic Vale has taken something that belongs to my family. I want him removed from the picture."
On the other end of the line, Rostov let out a dark, raspy laugh. "Removing Dominic Vale costs more than money, Harrison. It costs blood."
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"Name your price," Harrison declared desperately. "I’ll give you twenty percent of our logistics contracts at the port. Just bring me Dominic Vale’s head, and bring my son his daughter back."
"Done," Rostov replied cold-bloodedly. "My men are already in Chicago."
