Chapter 10 - The Medical Chart That Never BurnedVictoria backed away toward the curtained alcove behind the head table, her face twisted in cornered, venomous hatred.
“She was a bastard child, Daddy!” Victoria screamed, completely shedding every ounce of her socialite veneer. “Nikolai had that child with a dead ballerina from Moscow! She was going to inherit sixty percent of the casino shares! The Volkov syndicate was supposed to belong to our family! To my children!”
The confession echoed across the vaulted ballroom like a series of gunshots.
Every syndicate don, every judge, and every commissioner in the room stared at Victoria in utter disgust. In the criminal underworld, turf wars and commercial disputes were settled with steel and fire, but poisoning an innocent five-year-old child was a violation of the sacred code that carried an automatic, irrevocable death sentence.
Nina took another step toward the table, her eyes burning with righteous fury.
“You didn't just poison Vera, Victoria,” Nina said, her voice cutting through the room like a scalpel. “You paid Dr. Vance seventy-five thousand dollars to lock the central blood bank on the second floor, ensuring that when the cyanide triggered hemolytic breakdown, there would be no compatible B-negative blood to perform an exchange transfusion.”
Dr. Vance broke completely, throwing himself onto his knees on the carpet, clutching his hands together in desperate supplication.
“It wasn't my idea, Don Nikolai!” Vance wept, his face pressed against the floor. “Victoria threatened to revoke my medical license! She said Harold Sterling would have me ruined if I didn't certify the death as natural heart failure! I only delayed the blood delivery! I didn't mix the poison!”
“You swore an oath to heal, Vance,” Nina said softly, looking down at the groveling physician with pure contempt. “And you traded a five-year-old girl’s breath for a kickback.”
Nikolai turned his terrifying gaze onto Harold Sterling.
“Your daughter signed the hit order on Nina Belova three hours ago, Harold,” Nikolai said, his voice flat as granite. “And your private security team used Nevada Gaming Commission vehicles to ambush my car on Tropicana Avenue.”
Harold Sterling’s knees gave out. He collapsed back into his leather armchair, clutching his chest, his skin turning the color of ash.
“Nikolai... please,” Harold pleaded, his aristocratic arrogance evaporating into desperate begging. “We can settle this... I will resign from the Commission... I will sign over the state gaming licenses to the Volkov Trust... take all our assets, but spare my daughter!”
Nikolai looked at the broken commissioner with the chilling detachment of an emperor surveying a fallen province.
“Your assets are already seized, Harold,” Nikolai said calmly. “As of twenty minutes ago, federal agents from the Department of Justice, accompanied by my private forensic accountants, raided your offices in Carson City and seized every offshore account, every property deed, and every communications server bearing the Sterling name.”
The heavy double doors of the Grand Ballroom burst open once more.
May you like
A dozen federal marshals in tactical gear, accompanied by the United States Attorney for the District of Nevada, marched down the center aisle with steel handcuffs drawn.
“Harold Sterling, Victoria Sterling, Marcus Vance,” the federal prosecutor announced, his voice booming across the room. “You are under arrest for conspiracy to commit murder, federal racketeering, and domestic terrorism.”
Related Stories
