The first tremor of Julian’s counterattack came not as a strategic market move or a legal salvo, but as a brute force assault on Victor’s corporate headquarters the next afternoon. I was in a glass-walled conference room on the 80th floor, reviewing asset liquidation timelines with Victor’s legal team, when my head of security spoke softly into my earpiece.
“Ma’am, we have a situation in the lobby. Mr. Croft is demanding entry.”
Victor paused, his pen hovering over a document. He glanced at me, one eyebrow raised in a silent question. I gave a nearly imperceptible nod. “Let him up,” I said, my voice calm. “But have your team on standby. Escort him to the outer waiting area of this floor.”
I wanted this confrontation. I wanted it on my new territory, under my new terms, surrounded by the
