The phone on the desk buzzed. It was Dante Ricci, the “Vulture” circling the family fortune. Malcolm answered on speakerphone.
“I know who you are,” Ricci’s voice crackled with triumph. “I have a source at the clinic. An undocumented twin running the estate? The stock price will plummet to zero when I leak this. Unless you settle the lawsuit today.”
William, sitting in the corner, looked pale. This was the end. But Malcolm just laughed–a dry, humorless sound.
“Go ahead, Dante,” Malcolm said. “Leak it. But before you do, you might want to check the *Wall Street Journal*’s website. I just uploaded the unredacted ledgers from your offshore shell companies in the Caymans. The ones proving you’ve been embezzling from your own artists for a decade.”
“You… you can’t,” Ricci stammered.
“It’s already done,” Malcolm replied, hitting a key on his laptop. “The SEC is on line two. Goodbye, Dante.” He hung up. William stared at his brother, realizing that while he played the “White Knight,” Malcolm played the executioner.