Chapter 18 - The Midnight Checkmate
The cold,
dark,
and incredibly silent midnight hour approached slowly,
inevitably,
blanketing the massive,
bustling city in a thick,
heavy shroud of dark,
impenetrable shadows.
Marcus Thorne sat confidently,
arrogantly in his luxurious,
expensive penthouse,
staring eagerly,
greedily at his sleek,
glowing smartphone,
waiting impatiently,
anxiously for the joyous,
triumphant call confirming his massive,
lucrative success.
He poured himself another large,
generous glass of expensive,
aged whiskey,
already mentally,
happily spending the massive,
billions of extorted,
stolen dollars he believed he had firmly,
securely won.
Suddenly,
quietly,
the heavy,
reinforced elevator doors leading directly,
exclusively into his private,
secure penthouse slid open with a soft,
barely audible hiss.
Marcus did not even look up,
foolishly,
arrogantly assuming it was simply,
quietly his loyal,
highly paid personal butler returning with his late,
midnight snack.
"Did they successfully,
quietly acquire the arrogant,
wealthy girl yet?"
Marcus asked loudly,
smugly,
taking a large,
satisfying sip of his burning,
amber drink.
"I am afraid your pathetic,
incompetent team is currently,
miserably sitting in federal,
maximum-security custody,
Marcus,"
I said smoothly,
coldly,
stepping gracefully,
elegantly out of the dark,
shadowy elevator.
Marcus choked loudly,
violently,
spitting the expensive,
burning whiskey all over his polished,
mahogany desk,
spinning around rapidly,
terrified in his large,
leather chair.
I stood completely,
absolutely calm,
wearing a sleek,
black designer trench coat,
flanked securely,
intimidatingly by six massive,
heavily armed Vance security operatives.
"How did you possibly,
miraculously get inside my private,
highly secure building?"
Marcus stammered weakly,
pathetically,
his face turning a pale,
sickly shade of terrified,
ghostly white.
"I own this entire,
massive building,
Marcus,"
I replied softly,
ruthlessly,
walking slowly,
deliberately toward his large,
expensive desk,
my sharp,
designer heels clicking loudly,
ominously on the polished,
hardwood floor.
"I secretly,
quietly purchased the massive,
holding company that owns your expensive,
luxurious penthouse exactly,
precisely three hours ago."
I reached into my sleek,
expensive designer handbag,
pulling out a thick,
heavy stack of legally binding,
meticulously signed eviction and corporate,
hostile takeover documents.
I dropped them heavily,
loudly onto his wet,
ruined desk,
staring down at him with pure,
unadulterated,
and completely merciless disgust.
"Your mercenary team walked completely,
blindly into a massive,
inescapable steel trap,
and they immediately,
cowardly surrendered every single,
shred of highly incriminating,
damning evidence against you to the federal,
armed authorities,"
I explained smoothly,
coldly.
Marcus began to physically,
visibly shake,
his arrogant,
smug facade completely,
irreparably shattered into a million tiny,
pathetic pieces.
"You are going to federal,
maximum-security prison for the rest of your miserable,
worthless life,
Marcus,"
I whispered softly,
deadly,
leaning in close,
intimidatingly.
The loud,
shrill sound of heavy,
blaring police sirens suddenly,
dramatically filled the cold,
night air,
echoing loudly,
rapidly up from the busy,
bustling city streets far,
far below.
"You thought you were a massive,
unstoppable predator,"
I said quietly,
turning my back on him completely,
permanently,
"but in my vast,
powerful empire,
you are nothing but a tiny,
insignificant pest."
The heavy,
reinforced penthouse doors burst open violently,
loudly,
and a massive,
swarming team of armed,
federal SWAT agents rushed quickly,
aggressively into the large,
expensive room,
throwing the screaming,
sobbing billionaire roughly,
May you like
forcefully onto the cold,
hard floor.
