Chapter 13 - The Villa on Lake Zurich
The private villa on the shores of Lake Zurich was a fortress of modern wealth, surrounded by manicured boxwood hedges, security cameras, and high stone walls.
Inside the sprawling glass-walled study, fifty-eight-year-old Victor Vance sat behind a massive slab of white marble desk, shouting into a secure satellite phone.
"What do you mean the New York clearinghouse is blocked?!" Victor roared, his face turning an unhealthy shade of crimson. "That capital was supposed to fund our new shipping cartel in Marseille! Find another routing code immediately!"
He slammed the phone down onto its cradle, breathing heavily, running a trembling hand through his thinning gray hair.
CLACK.
The heavy glass French doors leading to the lakeside terrace slid open with a soft, effortless hiss.
Victor froze.
Standing in the center of the room, completely uninvited, was Lorenzo Castellano. His black wool overcoat was unbuttoned, his dark hair immaculate, his amber-brown eyes fixed on Victor with the unyielding gravity of an executioner.
Beside Lorenzo stood Nina Vasquez, calm, composed, wearing an elegant ivory trench coat, holding Ghost’s thick leather lead.
The massive Rottweiler entered the room like a dark shadow, his heavy claws clicking against the imported hardwood floor. He stopped ten feet from Victor's desk, baring his teeth in a silent, terrifying warning.
Victor scrambled backward out of his leather executive chair, nearly tripping over the rug as his hand dove frantically toward the lower desk drawer where he kept a suppressed Walther pistol.
"Don't do it, Victor," Lorenzo said, his voice dropping into a register of sub-zero ice.
Rocco stepped out from behind the doorframe, pressing the barrel of a customized SIG Sauer directly against the back of Victor’s neck.
Victor’s hand froze inches from the drawer. He collapsed against the edge of the marble desk, his breathing turning shallow and ragged.
"L-Lorenzo Castellano..." Victor stammered, his teeth chattering. "You... you have no legal authority in Switzerland! This is international territory! I’ll call the local constabulary!"
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Nina stepped forward, placing a single manila folder onto the center of the marble desk.
"You don't need to call the police, Victor," Nina said coldly. "We brought them with us—or rather, the Swiss Federal Prosecutor’s anti-corruption unit is currently waiting at your front gate."
