Chapter 9 - Collision
The café in Long Island City smelled of roasted espresso beans and wet asphalt. Through the large glass storefront, the grey afternoon light cast long shadows across the empty tables.
David sat alone at a corner booth near the back, his tailored jacket slightly rumpled, his fingers tapping a frantic, unsteady rhythm against the polished wood table. A leather briefcase sat on the seat beside him, its brass latches gleaming. He kept checking his watch, his eyes darting toward the door every time a car passed outside.
The bell above the door chimed softly.
David looked up, expecting his buyer—or worse, federal agents. Instead, Rowan walked in alone.
She wore her dark trench coat belted tightly at the waist, her posture straight, her expression entirely unreadable. She walked slowly across the checkered tile floor and slid into the booth opposite him without waiting for an invitation.
David swallowed hard, forcing a tight, nervous smile to his lips. “Rowan. I have to hand it to you. I always knew you were smart, but playing hardball with Vance? That’s suicide.”
“You spent three years treating my life like a spreadsheet, David,” Rowan said, her voice entirely calm, carrying an icy resonance that made him flinch. “You lied about my father, you forged my signature, and you tried to turn me into your scapegoat.”
“I had no choice,” David said, his voice rising defensively as he leaned forward. “Vance’s organization is a meat grinder. The ledger I took... it proves that the people running this city didn't just ruin your father’s business—they’re laundering billions through dummy corporations. I was just trying to get us out.”
“Don't talk about my father,” Rowan interrupted sharply, her eyes flashing with a dangerous intensity. “You didn't do this to get us out. You did this because you’re a parasite who can't survive without feeding on someone else's work.”
David’s eyes narrowed, his panic giving way to a bitter, vindictive sneer. “You really think you’re safe with him, don't you? You think Julian Vance is your savior? Open that briefcase, Rowan. Go ahead. Look at the files inside.”
Rowan didn't move. She kept her gaze locked on his.
“Those aren't just financial records,” David whispered maliciously. “That’s the complete corporate registry of Vance’s primary holding company. And on page four hundred and twelve, you’ll find the real reason your father’s business was targeted. It wasn't me, and it wasn't Julian.”
Before David could finish the sentence, the heavy glass door of the café swung open wide.
Julian Vance stepped inside, flanked by two men in dark coats. But it wasn't Julian who drew Rowan’s attention—it was the man walking right beside him.
A tall, impeccably dressed man with silver-streaked hair and cold blue eyes stepped out from the shadows of the vestibule. It was Harrison Vance, Julian’s own senior legal counsel and managing partner.
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Julian stopped ten feet from the table, his face carved from stone. He looked down at David, then slowly turned his gaze to Rowan.
“The ledger isn't missing because of Tommy, and it isn't missing because of David,” Julian said, his voice echoing quietly in the empty café. “It’s missing because Harrison wanted to see how long my family name could survive before the rot reached the top.”
