Chapter 6 - The Steel Trap
The Grand Imperial Hotel was a twenty-story luxury skyscraper towering over the city center, a monument to greed and corruption. On the top floor, in the glass-walled Crystal Ballroom, Gabriel Vane was hosting his victory banquet.
The room was filled with corrupt politicians, police commanders, and rival syndicate leaders. Heavy velvet curtains framed panoramic views of the illuminated city below. Armed mercenaries wearing tactical vests and carrying submachine guns stood at every exit, their eyes scanning the elite crowd.
At the center of the room, Gabriel stood near a podium, champagne glass in hand, smiling triumphantly as he addressed the assembly.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Gabriel announced, his thin voice amplified by the microphone. “Today, we mourn the tragic passing of Don Mateo Vargas, a man who served this city for decades but sadly succumbed to an unforeseen security failure at his estate. Along with him, the misguided orphan who claimed to be a Mendoza was also lost.”
The crowd murmured politely, though everyone in the room knew Gabriel had ordered the hit.
“With their passing,” Gabriel continued, his eyes gleaming with ambition, “a new era begins. As the new head of the Harbor Syndicate, I am officially signing over the operational rights of Port Sector 4 to our distinguished partners from the Northern Cartel!”
A man in an expensive gray suit representing the cartel stepped forward, holding a thick leather folder containing the contract.
“Before you sign that paper, Gabriel,” a calm, clear voice echoed from the main entrance of the ballroom, “you might want to check if the land is actually yours to sell.”
The music stopped instantly. The crowd parted like the Red Sea.
I walked into the ballroom alone, wearing a immaculate dark suit, walking with slow, deliberate steps toward the podium. My hands were held openly at my sides, empty.
Gabriel’s face went completely pale, his eyes bulging in sheer disbelief. “You... you’re dead! Kill him! Shoot him now!”
Four mercenaries immediately raised their rifles, aiming directly at my chest.
I didn't flinch. I didn't even slow down.
“If your men fire a single shot, Gabriel,” I said, pointing up toward the glass ceiling, “the thirty private security cameras streaming live to every major news outlet and federal magistrate in the country will capture your face giving the order.”
Gabriel froze. Behind me, the massive projection screens in the ballroom—which were supposed to display Gabriel’s corporate logo—suddenly flickered and changed.
Instead of logos, the screens began displaying clear, high-definition audio and video recordings of Gabriel Vane speaking to the Northern Cartel, detailing how he sabotaged Mateo Vargas’s boat, ordered the poison for my grandmother, and planned the hit on the villa.
The crowd gasped in horror. Corrupt police commanders hurriedly backed away from Gabriel, trying to distance themselves from the sudden catastrophe.
“Where did you get that?!” Gabriel screamed, dropping his champagne glass. It shattered on the marble floor.
“You forgot about the street rats, Gabriel,” I said softly, standing ten feet from the podium. “The kitchen staff who served your drinks, the waiters who cleaned your tables, the mechanics who serviced your cars... they hear everything. And they bring everything to me.”
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“It doesn’t matter!” Gabriel shrieked, losing his composure completely. He pulled a concealed pistol from inside his jacket and aimed it squarely at my forehead. “I’ll kill you myself! I’ll take the port by force!”
Before his finger could squeeze the trigger, the massive reinforced glass dome above the ballroom shattered downward in an explosion of rain and glittered shards.
