Chapter 6 - THE SIEGE OF THE ESTATE
The heavy oak front doors of the mansion creaked open under the absolute authority of Gabriel Rowan's presence.
Outside in the snow-dusted courtyard, twelve men in dark tactical winter gear stood surrounding three idling black SUVs. At the center stood Marcus Vance—a ruthless, silver-haired syndicate boss from New York whose family had controlled Midwest shipping routes for forty years. Vance held a heavy silver-plated revolver at his side, his face lined with murderous intent.
Gabriel stepped out onto the marble porch, flanked by Viktor and four of his elite, heavily armed estate guards. Evan was brought out behind them, his hands zip-tied securely behind his back.
The freezing Chicago wind howled across the courtyard, blowing light powder across the stone steps.
"Gabriel!" Marcus Vance called out, his deep voice carrying over the idle roar of the engines. "You canceled our meeting downtown. That was a foolish mistake."
"I had internal business to settle, Marcus," Gabriel replied smoothly, his overcoat flapping gently in the cold breeze. "You rammed my gates. That is an act of war."
Vance gave a cruel, rasping laugh. "An act of war? You're the one who declared war, Rowan! I received a very interesting digital draft of your restructuring plan two hours ago. Page twelve says you're turning over our offshore banking records to the Department of Justice in exchange for full immunity!"
Gabriel didn't flinch. He reached into his coat, pulled out the black leather envelope, and held it up in the cold air.
"You received a forgery, Marcus," Gabriel said, his voice ringing with absolute clarity. "Engineered by the man standing right here."
Vance’s eyes shifted sharply toward Evan Cross.
"Evan?" Vance sneered. "Evan was the one who alerted me to your treason, Gabriel!"
"Evan wanted control of Rowan Freight," Gabriel explained calmly, stepping down one marble stair. "He stole this envelope from my locked safe an hour ago. He replaced pages nine, twelve, and fifteen with fabricated federal immunity clauses, hoping you would kill me today so he could step into my seat and hand you the company on a silver platter."
Vance narrowed his eyes, looking between Gabriel’s icy calm and Evan’s growing panic. "Why should I believe a word coming out of your mouth, Rowan?"
Gabriel pulled the forged pages from the envelope and tossed them into the wind. The white papers fluttered across the snow, landing at Vance’s feet.
"Read them yourself, Marcus," Gabriel said. "Look at the font on page twelve. Look at the watermark. It doesn't match my official corporate seal. More importantly—look at Evan’s eyes. He knows he’s caught."
Vance slowly stooped down, picking up one of the fluttering pages from the snow. He examined the watermark under the courtyard floodlights, his expression hardening into dark realization.
Vance looked up, his terrifying gaze fixing directly onto Evan Cross.
"Is this true, Evan?" Vance asked, his voice dropping into a deadly register. "Did you try to use the Vance family as your personal execution squad?"
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Evan’s breathing turned fast and shallow. "Marcus, he's lying! He's playing you! Check his private server—"
"I don't need to check his server," Vance interrupted, his jaw tight with fury. "I know Gabriel Rowan. He is a ruthless bastard, but he has never lied to my face in twenty years. You, on the other hand, look like a rat trapped in a corner."
