Chapter 3 - The Billionaire’s Interrogation**
Julian Sterling was standing in the private VIP lounge on the third floor of the Vanderbilt Grand, swirling a glass of expensive scotch and laughing with a city councilman about the upcoming zoning vote, when the heavy oak doors suddenly slammed open.
Four towering men in bespoke dark suits entered silently, fan out across the exits, and locked the deadbolts.
Sterling blinked, his smile faltering as he saw who walked through the center.
Raphael Moretti looked like an executioner stepping out of the shadows. His tie was slightly askew, his dark hair was slightly damp from the rain, and his eyes were completely devoid of human emotion.
"Raphael, my man!" Sterling forced a jovial laugh, raising his glass. "I heard about your wife—terrible business at the bar tonight, hope she’s—"
*Crack.*
Raphael crossed the room in three blinding steps and drove his fist straight into Julian Sterling’s jaw. The developer shrieked in agony as he flew backward, smashing into a mahogany display cabinet and shattering crystal decanters before collapsing onto the Persian rug, clutching his bleeding mouth.
The city councilman dropped his drink, turned pale, and bolted for the door, only to find Marcus Vance blocking his path with a cold, unyielding stare. "Stay put, Councilman. You might learn something about municipal procurement law."
Raphael towered over the groaning developer, reaching down to grab Sterling by the silk lapels of his designer tuxedo and hauling him up off the floor as if he weighed nothing at all.
"You poisoned my wife," Raphael said, his voice terrifyingly calm, barely above a whisper.
"You're... you're insane!" Sterling gasped, spitting blood onto the rug. "I was in the ballroom all night! Ask anyone!"
Marcus stepped forward, placing a high-definition tablet on the glass coffee table directly in front of Sterling’s face. The screen played crisp, unedited security footage of Dominic Rossi—Sterling’s personal fixer—pulling the poisoned flute from his hidden vest pocket and handing it directly to Elena.
Sterling’s face turned the color of curdled milk. His eyes darted frantically around the room.
"Dominic... Dominic is an idiot, he went rogue, I swear to God, Raphael!" Sterling stammered, hyperventilating. "It was just supposed to be a sedative! A warning! To make her sick so you would pull out of the Brooklyn terminal bidding! It wasn't meant to—"
*BAM.*
Raphael slammed Sterling’s head hard against the edge of the marble bar, silencing the excuses. Sterling let out a pathetic, gurgling whimper, his knees buckling.
"Did you know she was pregnant?" Raphael asked.
Sterling froze, trembling violently. "I... I didn't... Rossi didn't tell me—"
"Did you know?" Raphael repeated, pressing his forearm against Sterling’s windpipe, cutting off his air supply until Sterling’s face turned bright purple.
"No! God as my witness, no!" Sterling choked out, clawing desperately at Raphael’s sleeve. "If I knew she was carrying a child, I never would have—please, Raphael! We're businessmen! We can settle this! I'll give you the Brooklyn terminal! I’ll sign over my entire portfolio! Name your price!"
Raphael slowly eased the pressure, letting Sterling slump to the floor, gasping like a fish out of water. Raphael pulled out a silk handkerchief from his pocket, wiped his hands with clinical detachment, and looked down at the ruined developer.
"Money?" Raphael asked softly, a terrifying, humorless smile touching his lips. "You think this is about money, Julian?"
Raphael turned to Marcus Vance. "Notify our legal team, our banking partners, and the federal prosecutors we've been quietly feeding wiretap transcripts to for the past two years."
"Boss?" Marcus asked.
"Execute Operation Clean Slate," Raphael commanded coldly. "Freeze all of Sterling Development’s accounts by midnight. Call in every short-term construction loan they have outstanding. Pull every municipal permit they hold across three states. By sunrise, Julian Sterling won't just be bankrupt—he’ll be wearing an orange jumpsuit in a federal penitentiary with no bail."
Sterling let out a loud, hysterical sob, realizing that his entire multi-billion-dollar empire was being dismantled in less than sixty seconds.
May you like
Raphael turned his back on him, walking toward the heavy oak doors. "And Dominic Rossi? Find him. Hand him over to the authorities with a complete evidence package. Make sure he spends the next thirty years reflecting on whose wife he decided to poison."
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