I stood my ground in the narrow hallway, the cacophony of the convention center a dull roar through the closed doors. Julian’s furious tirade continued, his breath hot on my face.
“You think you have leverage?” he sneered, puffing out his chest. “You have nothing. My political rise is inevitable. Nobody will ever believe the word of a disgruntled ex-CFO over a Senatorial candidate. I am power, Clara. You are a footnote.”
He seemed to swell with his own false authority, completely oblivious to the real power dynamics at play. He truly believed his public persona, his carefully constructed image, was impenetrable.
A stage director, headset on, hurried past, calling out, “Five minutes to air, Mr. De Witt! Five minutes!”
Julian ignored him, his eyes still fixed on me, a smug, contemptuous smile spreading across his face. “This is your last chance. Give me the books, Clara. Walk away with your dignity. Or face absolute destruction.”
He clearly expected me to crack, to hand over what he mistakenly thought I still possessed. He waited, his chest heaving slightly, for my capitulation.
Just then, the green room door directly behind Julian opened slowly.
Two large men in dark tailored suits stepped into the corridor. Their faces were impassive, their movements deliberate. They were the kind of men who blended into the background, yet commanded attention.
And between them, walking with a calm, unhurried pace, was Victor Moretti.
Julian’s back was to them. He didn’t see them. He was still focused entirely on me, his eyes blazing with a mix of fury and self-pity.
Moretti’s eyes met mine across Julian’s shoulder. He gave a subtle, almost imperceptible nod. A silent confirmation.
Julian was still speaking, a torrent of threats and boasts. “You think you can challenge me? You’ll regret this, Clara. You’ll regret every single—”
His voice cut off abruptly as Moretti and his two enforcers stepped fully into the corridor, forming a silent, unyielding wall directly behind him. The air in the hallway seemed to thicken, pressing down on us. The distant sounds of the convention center faded into an eerie silence.
Julian, still mid-sentence, finally felt the shift in the atmosphere. He stopped talking, his head cocking slightly. His eyes, still on me, began to widen in dawning horror. He hadn’t seen them arrive, but he could feel their presence. He could feel the cold, heavy weight of true authority behind him. He started to turn, slowly, a flicker of genuine fear finally appearing in his eyes.
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