Two hours later, William stood in the glass-walled conference room of Vane-Tech’s headquarters. He was Victoria’s proxy, the “Consort” sent to clean house.
Seated before him were Julianna Vane’s three top lieutenants–the executives who had helped execute the smear campaign against Victoria. They looked smug, expecting a severance negotiation.
“The Board has reviewed your contracts,” William said, his voice devoid of emotion. “There will be no golden parachutes.”
“You can’t fire us for cause,” the CFO sneered. “We were following orders.”
“You were complicit in corporate espionage and the unauthorized release of private medical data,” William countered, sliding three folders across the table. “We have the logs from Elias Graves. If you contest your termination, we hand these to the District Attorney.”
The room went silent. William watched the blood drain from their faces. He felt a cold, familiar hum in his chest–the thrill of the kill. It was the same sensation he used to feel standing next to Alistair.
“Security will escort you out,” William said, standing up. “Leave your phones.”
He walked out without looking back. He had executed the task with surgical precision, but as the elevator doors closed, he caught his reflection in the steel. He didn’t look like the “White Knight” anymore. He looked like his father.