Chapter 6 - The Council of Five Casinos
Camilla’s breath hitched in her throat with a wet, terrified sound.
She looked around the room, but not a single director met her gaze.
The five forensic accountants who had been on her private payroll kept their heads down, staring at their fingernails.
“Damian, listen to me!” Camilla pleaded, dropping all pretense of European elegance, her hands reaching out in desperate, groveling terror. “My father... my father was over-leveraged in Monaco! The cartel was threatening to seize our container fleet! We needed the digital betting cash flow to cover the interest payments!”
“You don't murder an honest auditor to cover your father's gambling debts, Camilla,” Damian said softly.
He reached out his large, scarred hand.
He didn't raise his fist. He simply closed his fingers around the eight-carat emerald-cut diamond engagement ring on Camilla’s left hand.
He pulled.
The platinum band scraped dryly over her knuckle, coming free in his palm.
He turned his hand over, letting the hundred-thousand-dollar ring drop into the champagne bucket beside her.
Plink.
“Marco.”
“Yes, Don Damian.”
“Take Camilla Laurent down to the holding vaults beneath the baccarat cage. Strip her jewelry. Strip her furs. Let her sit on the damp concrete beside Bradley Shaw.”
He looked at the trembling directors.
“Take Arthur Pendelton to the federal marshals waiting in the lobby. Hand them this red dossier.”
Camilla shrieked, thrashing against the guards as they clamped onto her wrists, hauling her backward down the corridor while her designer heels dragged across the parquet.
“Damian! No! You cannot give this empire to an hourly waitress! She clears glasses! She has no pedigree!”
Her screams echoed down the long hall until the heavy rosewood doors clicked shut forever.
Silence returned to the private salon.
Pure, clean, and vast.
Damian stood at the head of the table.
He looked down at Elena, who stood with her chin lifted, her hands steady, the silver dice charm resting proudly over her heart.
He walked across the carpet, stopping two feet away from her.
He reached into his breast pocket and produced an antique leather portfolio stamped with the golden seal of the State of Nevada.
He laid it flat on the green felt table.
“What is this, Mr. Cross?” Elena whispered.
“Open it, Elena,” he smiled gently.
Elena opened the folder.
Inside lay an official decree from the Nevada Gaming Commission:
APPOINTMENT OF ELENA VANCE, CPA — CHIEF FORENSIC CONTROLLER AND EXECUTIVE TRUSTEE OF THE CROSS GAMING EMPIRE.
Attached to the decree was a stock certificate transferring five percent of the entire twelve-resort conglomerate into her name—an unencumbered holding worth over sixty million dollars.
Tears of pure, overwhelming gratitude blurred Elena’s vision, hot against her eyelashes.
“Damian... sixty million dollars? Chief Forensic Controller? I am an hourly server!”
Damian reached out, his warm, calloused hand gently closing over hers where it rested on the stock certificate.
“You are the daughter of Teresa Vance, Elena,” Damian whispered, his deep baritone rumbling with emotion. “You carry her courage, her intellect, and her honor in your blood. In this house, debts of honor are answered with an empire.”
He looked down into her hazel eyes with an ocean of fierce, unyielding devotion.
May you like
“Your mother’s ledger is finally balanced, Elena. Now it’s time to build our own.”
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