Chapter 4 - The Order to the Wrong Man
In my line of work, authority is maintained through absolute control and instant execution of orders. But when rage clouds a man's judgment, even the most precise machinery can misfire.
I sat behind my mahogany desk, my eyes fixed on the door as Marco escorted my cousin, Arthur Vance, into the office.
Arthur was a heavy, slick man in his late thirties, wearing a loud designer suit and an arrogant, self-satisfied smirk. He carried a leather briefcase filled with forged receipts and altered payroll documents that he believed I was too busy to ever inspect.
"Nicholas, my dear cousin!" Arthur beamed, spreading his arms wide as he stepped toward my desk. "I brought the quarterly audit summaries for the household expenses! Everything is running smooth as silk, just as I promised—"
"Shut up, Arthur," I said, my voice dangerously quiet.
Arthur’s smirk faltered slightly. "Excuse me?"
I tossed the thick dossier of audited payroll records, the canceled insurance notifications, and Carmen’s medical report directly onto the center of the desk.
Arthur looked down at the documents. The color drained from his face in an instant, his slick demeanor vanishing beneath a wave of sheer, unadulterated panic.
"Nicholas... look... I can explain—" Arthur stammered, taking a step back.
"You stole six hundred thousand dollars from the household budget over three years, Arthur," I said, stepping around the desk, my presence looming over him like a shadow. "You canceled the medical insurance of a dying woman so you could pay the lease on your sports car. You let an eight-year-old child starve in my pantry while you drank my scotch."
"She's just a maid, Nicholas!" Arthur yelled, his voice turning shrill as fear took hold of him. "She's replaceable! You're making a big deal out of a servant—"
Before he could finish the sentence, I struck him across the jaw with the back of my hand.
The force of the blow sent Arthur crashing onto the Persian rug, his lip split, his leather briefcase popping open and scattering forged financial documents across the floor.
He cowered on the floor, holding his bloody mouth, crying hysterically. "Please, Nicholas! Don't kill me! I'll pay it back! I'll give you everything back!"
I turned to the corner of the room, where my top enforcer stood waiting in the shadows.
In my mind, I was looking at Marco—my disciplined, trusted lieutenant who understood how to execute a controlled, legal transfer of assets and handle traitors quietly without drawing unnecessary blood.
"Take him down to the basement," I commanded coldly, pointing at Arthur. "Liquidate everything he owns. Strip him of his accounts, his cars, his house, and throw him out onto the street in his underwear. Make sure he never works in this state again."
"Understood, Boss," a heavy, gravelly voice replied from the shadow.
My heart stopped.
I turned my head instantly.
Standing in the shadow was not Marco.
It was Viktor—a ruthless, sociopathic hitman I had brought in from the European underworld two months ago for high-level perimeter security. Viktor was a blunt instrument, a man who didn't understand corporate liquidation, asset recovery, or legal pressure.
To Viktor, the word "liquidate" had only one, definitive meaning.
Before I could speak, Viktor reached down with one massive, gloved hand, grabbed Arthur by the collar of his suit like a sack of trash, and hauled him screaming out of the office toward the heavy steel doors of the sub-basement.
"Nicholas! Help me! He's going to kill me!" Arthur shrieked, his nails tearing against the door frame as Viktor dragged him down the dark staircase.
I had given a corporate execution order to a ruthless assassin.
"Viktor, stop!" I barked, taking a step toward the doorway.
At that exact moment, the emergency medical alarms in the guest suite downstairs exploded into a loud, frantic siren.
Dr. Harrison’s voice echoed loudly down the main corridor: "Nicholas! Get down here now! Carmen’s lung has collapsed! She’s going into cardiac arrest!"
I stood paralyzed at the threshold of my office.
Down the dark basement stairs to my left, my greedy cousin was about to be murdered because of a miscommunicated order.
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Down the bright hallway to my right, the dying woman and her starving child were clinging to their final thread of life.
I had two minutes to save them both.
