He raises an eyebrow. "You are going through with it? It’s extreme."
"It’s the most strategic move," I explain. "It’s a two-pronged trap. First, the shares. If I marry her before Arthur dies, her inheritance becomes a marital asset. When the shares transfer to her, I’ll ensure she signs her voting proxy directly over to me and absorb her power completely."
I pause, collecting myself.
"And second," I add, "there’s the matter of the courts. Spousal privilege."
He nods. "She cannot testify against you."
"Exactly. A wife cannot be compelled to testify against her husband. If the Feds get to her or if she breaks and tries to go to the police, she’ll find that her voice has been legally removed. By marrying her, I’m not just taking her company but gagging her for life."
"She’ll fight it," he warns. "She’s not the type to go quietly to the altar."
"Let her fight," I say. "I enjoy the struggle."
"And the prisoner?" he asks, shifting gears. "The Council sent him over an hour ago. They said he needs correction."
"Is he prepped?"
"He’s zip-tied in the circle. Waiting for you."
"Good."
I step away from him.
"Helena," I call.
She turns, her expression guarded, and walks back toward us.
"You know Lev as my bodyguard," I say, gesturing to the giant man. "But that is a simplification. He is my Lieutenant. When I need a problem removed physically, he is the hammer."
Helena looks at him, her eyes wary. He gives her a stone-faced nod.
"And this," I say, pointing to the younger man, "is Ivan. You haven't met him. Ivan is my eyes."
Ivan steps forward, chewing gum. He could pass for a college student with his messy hair and expensive sneakers, but his eyes are dead.
"Director Blackwood," he says. "I monitored your retinal scan on the Atlantic Loop. Your biometrics are impossibly symmetrical."
"Ivan runs our cyber-warfare division," I explain. "If it has a microchip, he owns it. He can erase your bank account or crash a plane from his laptop."
Helena looks between the three of us. The Muscle, The Brains, and The King-in-waiting.
"Why are you introducing me to your inner circle?" she asks quietly.
"Because you are part of the organization now," I say. "Come."
We walk onto the warehouse floor, and the Grinder’s noise roars.
Sparks fly from distant grinding wheels, showering the concrete in orange fire, while massive cranes move overhead, carrying tons of scrap metal.
Helena flinches as a heavy chain drops near us with a deafening clang, but she keeps walking. She holds her head high.
"In the boardroom, Helena, I play the part of the CEO," I say, my voice carrying over the industrial noise. "I wear the suit. I speak the language of profit and loss."
I stop and turn to her, spreading my arms.
"But here? Here, I’mVor Morozov. I’m the head of this family. This is my territory. The laws of your government don’t apply inside these walls. Only my word."
