You’ll only embarrass me wearing that dress. / Chapter 14 / 70

Chapter 14 - The Art of the Counter-Strike

"Get everybody out," Phoebe commanded without turning around.

The Harrell board members, sensing an impending bloodbath, cleared the room within sixty seconds, leaving only Phoebe, Raymond, and Thomas on one side of the vast mahogany table, and Julian and Montgomery Sterling on the other.

Montgomery leaned forward, resting his liver-spotted hands on the table. "You're wasting time, girl. We hold the paper. Your father signed the sovereign bridge loans. The SEC has already placed Harrell Global under provisional monitorship. If we call the note at three o’clock, you are personally and corporately bankrupt."

Thomas took a step forward, his tall frame casting a long shadow over his uncle. "You always were short-sighted, Montgomery. That’s why my father stripped you of the Sterling inheritance and exiled you to the Caribbean thirty years ago."

Montgomery’s face darkened with old, festering hatred. "Your father was a coward who hid behind morality, nephew! And now you’re doing the same, playing bodyguard to a disgraced heiress!"

"I am nobody’s victim," Phoebe interrupted coldly, her emerald eyes boring into Julian. "Julian, tell me... when Montgomery offered to bail you out of the gutter, what did he promise you? Ten percent? Five percent of the Harrell spoils?"

Julian scoffed, straightening his tie with an attempt at bravado. "I get what was always mine. Apex Strategy. The penthouse in Tribeca. And the satisfaction of watching you walk out of this building with nothing but the clothes on your back. Exactly what I should have done to you years ago."

"You always had a child’s imagination," Phoebe said smoothly, pulling a thin silver flash drive from her pocket and tossing it onto the center of the table. It slid across the glossy wood, stopping an inch from Julian’s fingers.

Julian looked down at it, frowning. "What is that?"

"That is the complete forensic ledger of the Cayman entity you used to route Montgomery’s funds," Phoebe said calmly. "Did you really think that because I was celebrating in Lake Como, my team wasn't monitoring every wire transfer that passed through SWIFT?"

Montgomery let out a harsh, rasping laugh. "Bluffing. The Cayman accounts are protected by strict nominee director secrecy laws. No court in the United States can pierce those corporate veils in under six months. By then, Harrell Global will be carved up and sold to the highest bidder."

"No court in the United States needs to," Thomas said, pulling his phone from his breast pocket and tapping the speakerphone.

A dial tone chimed twice before an authoritative, clipped British voice filled the room:

*"Good morning, Thomas. This is Sir Alistair Vance, Financial Conduct Authority, London."*

Montgomery’s sneer vanished. His knuckles turned white against the table.

"Sir Alistair," Thomas said clearly. "Can you confirm the status of the accounts tied to the Sterling-Vanguard Offshore Trust?"

*"Indeed,"* Sir Alistair replied crisp. *"As of twenty minutes ago, the High Court of Justice in London issued an international freezing injunction on all Sterling-Vanguard accounts under the UK Proceeds of Crime Act. We have verified that the underlying collateral used by Mr. Montgomery Sterling was obtained through fraudulent cross-collateralization with funds laundered from the collapsed Apex-Daley syndicate. Any attempt to call the notes in New York today constitutes an act of transnational money laundering."*

The silence in the boardroom was suffocating.

Julian looked frantically between Montgomery and the phone. "Montgomery... what is he talking about? You said the money was clean! You said the debt was unassailable!"

Montgomery’s face had turned an ugly shade of purple. He glared at Thomas with pure, unfiltered venom. "You insolent bastard... you went to the British Crown?"