THREE YEARS FOR NOTHING

Reckoning

The deep voice silenced the entire hall like a hand closing over a throat.

Elspeth froze. Her hands, still braced against the blood-slick floor, trembled as recognition washed over her. She knew that voice. Had listened to it tell her bedtime stories when she was small, had heard it promise he’d always protect her, had clung to the memory of it through three years of abandonment and cruelty.

Her brother.

Thaddeus stood framed in the shattered doorway, pieces of mahogany still settling around his feet. His eyes found Elspeth immediately—took in her pale face, the chains binding her ankle, the blood that covered her arms and forehead and feet. Something dark and terrible moved behind his gaze, a rage so complete it seemed to warp the air around him.

He stepped forward. When he spoke again, his voice had softened into something gentle, meant only for her. “I’m here. You’re safe now.”

Margot’s laugh cut through the moment like breaking glass. She straightened from where she’d been leaning against Dorian, her eyes wide with disbelief that quickly morphed into delight. “The convict actually dares to come here?” Her voice rose, sharp and mocking. “Get lost, or we’ll have security break your legs!”

Dorian joined in, his expression a mixture of amusement and contempt. “You really don’t know when to quit, do you, Crane?”

Thaddeus ignored them both. His footsteps were measured and deliberate as he walked deeper into the hall, each step bringing him closer to the cage where his sister huddled.

Gregor Ventris remained unnaturally calm. He set his whiskey glass down on the nearest table with precise care, then turned to face this interruption with the kind of arrogance that came from years of being untouchable. “Do you even know who I am?” His voice carried the weight of absolute confidence. “With a single word, I could end your life like stepping on an ant.”

Thaddeus let out a soft laugh, cold and humorless. “You seem far too confident.”

Margot’s smile turned vicious. “He’s always been ignorant. That’s why he ended up in prison.” She moved closer to Gregor, her hand touching his arm in a gesture of alliance. “Gregor is from Vanguard Conglomerate. Anyone who offends him is digging their own grave.”

Dorian nodded his agreement. “You should have stayed in whatever gutter you crawled out of, Crane. Coming here was a mistake you won’t survive.”

Thaddeus’s eyes narrowed. When he finally spoke, there was no room for argument. “From this moment on, he is no longer part of Vanguard Conglomerate.”

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then laughter erupted around the hall. Guests who’d been watching the spectacle with mild interest now doubled over, their amusement echoing off the vaulted ceiling. Someone clapped mockingly, while another whistled.

Margot could barely contain herself. “Oh, this is rich.” She wiped tears from her eyes with exaggerated care. “I heard the new chairman came to Riverbend today too. What, are you going to tell us that you’re the new chairman? That Cordelia Ashworth herself went to pick you up in person?”

Her words sent fresh waves of laughter rippling through the crowd.

Thaddeus showed no change in expression. He pulled his phone from his pocket with deliberate calm, his thumb moving across the screen. He found Cordelia’s contact, pressed call, and lifted it to his ear. When she answered, immediately, as always—his voice was level and clear enough for everyone in the hall to hear.

“Come to The Obsidian Lounge. Now.” A pause. “Clean up the trash.”

He ended the call and slipped the phone back into his pocket.

The laughter intensified, louder now and tinged with genuine hysteria. People clutched their sides. Someone banged their fist on a table. The absurdity of this prison-rat pretending to command Vanguard’s CEO was too much.

Gregor found the whole thing ridiculous. A smile played at the corners of his mouth, not quite reaching his eyes. He gestured lazily to the six men standing in formation near the bar—his personal security guards. “Break his arms and legs. Throw him outside to feed the dogs.”

The bodyguards moved forward with practiced coordination. They were not ordinary security. Each man was former special forces, handpicked from elite military units across three continents. They’d seen real combat, killed in hand-to-hand situations where hesitation meant death. Every one of them could take on a hundred ordinary men without breaking a sweat. They spread out to surround Thaddeus from multiple angles, their hands already reaching for weapons and pressure points.

Thaddeus shifted slightly.

No one saw how he moved. One moment he was standing still, the next there was a blur of motion too fast for eyes to track. A series of sharp, wet sounds filled the hall—bone cracking, joints dislocating, cartilage crushing. Screams cut off as breath left lungs. Bodies hit the marble floor with heavy thuds.

In less than five seconds, all six bodyguards lay scattered across the ground. Batons, tactical knives, a handgun, skittered across the polished marble. Not a single man could stand. Some twitched weakly. Others didn’t move at all.

The laughter died.

Gregor’s smile froze on his face. For the first time, something like shock flickered in his eyes as he stared at the wreckage of his supposedly unstoppable security team. He’d never imagined this ex-convict could be this terrifying.

Panic flashed across Dorian’s features. His hand shot out, grabbing the chain around Elspeth’s ankle. He yanked her forward until she choked, the shackle cutting into her skin as he wrapped the chain around her throat. “Kneel down and apologize to Gregor, or I’ll kill her!” His voice cracked with desperation trying to masquerade as authority.

Margot jumped in immediately, her words tumbling over each other. “Don’t think you’re tough just because you know a few cheap martial arts tricks! This isn’t a place for criminals like you to run wild!”

The crowd found their voices again, emboldened by distance and the familiar comfort of mob mentality. “Kneel!” someone shouted. “Apologize!” another demanded. “Who do you think you are?” a third voice added.

Thaddeus didn’t stop walking. His gaze remained ice-cold and utterly fixed on Dorian’s hand around his sister’s throat. His fingers clenched at his sides, trembling slightly—not from fear, but from rage so profound it was taking everything he had not to simply kill everyone in the room.

At that moment, someone burst through the damaged entrance, their voice high with excitement and confusion. “Helicopters! Dozens of helicopters just landed outside! All of them have Vanguard’s logo!”

The crowd gasped, heads turned. Whispers rippled through the hall.

“They must be Gregor’s men!” someone exclaimed.

“He really is a big shot to summon so many at once!” another added, their voice tinged with awe.

Margot’s confidence surged. She turned to Dorian with a triumphant smile. “See? It’s over. He’s done.”

Dorian’s grip tightened on the chain, his earlier panic transforming into smug satisfaction. “You picked the wrong person to cross, Crane.”

Despite the flattery washing over him from all sides, Gregor’s face remained carefully composed, but doubt gnawed at the edges of his confidence. He hadn’t called for reinforcements. More importantly, he didn’t have the authority to command dozens of helicopters—those aircraft only responded to direct orders from Cordelia Ashworth herself. His mind worked quickly, trying to make sense of the situation. Could it be that Cordelia had somehow heard he was being challenged and had come to support him? It made sense. He was a veteran executive at Vanguard, had been with the company for fifteen years. Of course she’d respect that kind of loyalty. Of course she’d come to his aid.

His pride swelled. He nodded to the crowd, his voice carrying the weight of absolute certainty. “Yes. They’re here for me.”

He turned back to Thaddeus, every ounce of his earlier arrogance restored and amplified. “I’m giving you five seconds.” He held up his hand, fingers spread. “Kneel down. Slap yourself ten times. Beg for mercy.” His smile turned predatory. “If you don’t, I’ll have my men break your legs and make your sister serve everyone here right in front of you.”

The threat against Elspeth ignited something in Thaddeus’s eyes—a killing intent so raw and absolute that the nearest guests actually stepped back without conscious thought.

Outside, the sound of synchronized heavy footsteps grew closer. Dozens of them, moving in perfect military formation. The rhythmic thunder of boots on pavement was like a countdown.

Five seconds passed.

Margot and Dorian stood together, practically vibrating with anticipation. They rubbed their hands in gleeful expectation, waiting to watch Thaddeus be destroyed.

Gregor’s mouth opened to give the order.

In the next instant, something cold and metallic pressed against his head.

The world seemed to stop.

Cordelia Ashworth stood beside Gregor, her arm extended, a matte black pistol held steady against his head. She was immaculate in her tailored suit, not a hair out of place despite having just arrived by helicopter. Her expression was perfectly calm, almost serene, but her voice carried the weight of a death sentence. “Are you courting death?”