Chapter 4 - The Threat on Claire’s Porch
Morning brought no relief from the storm.
Hannah spent her afternoon pacing the bedroom, her nerves coiled tight. The dress Julian had mentioned hung from the wardrobe door. It was breathtaking: deep emerald silk velvet, cut with an elegant boatneck, long sleeves, and a daring, sculptural plunge down the back. There was no designer tag, only the unmistakable weight of master craftsmanship.
Her phone buzzed on the vanity. Claire’s name flashed across the screen.
Hannah picked it up instantly. "Claire? Are you okay?"
Claire’s breath hitched on the other end, ragged and choked with tears. "Hannah... he came back."
Hannah’s blood went cold. "Travis?"
"He brought two men with him. They had clipboards, Hannah. They said Travis took out a sixty-thousand-dollar signature loan six months ago using his business equipment and our furniture as collateral. They said if he doesn't produce the money by tomorrow, they’re bringing a truck to empty the house. Noah was screaming... I locked us in the bathroom."
"Where is Travis now?" Hannah demanded, already grabbing her coat.
"He left with them. He was laughing, Hannah. He said if he can't have the house, he’ll strip it down to the studs."
"Stay inside. Lock all the doors. I’m coming right now."
"No, don't!" Claire wept. "Travis said if you get involved, he’ll tell everyone in town you’re living as a kept woman in some rich man's penthouse. He’s out of his mind, Hannah."
Hannah ended the call, her hands shaking with pure, unadulterated fury. She didn't think; she didn't plan. She marched down the hallway and slammed open the double doors of Julian’s private study.
She had never set foot inside it.
The room smelled of leather-bound volumes, high-end electronics, and dark tobacco. Behind a massive mahogany desk sat Julian, wearing a headset, staring at three massive monitors displaying live financial markets and satellite tracking maps of transatlantic cargo vessels.
He cut the connection instantly, pulling off the headset. His eyes narrowed. "I gave you one rule regarding this room."
"I don't care about your rules!" Hannah shouted, tears of frustration finally breaking through her composure. "Travis took out a predatory loan. He brought repo men to Claire's house. Noah is terrified, Claire is locked in a bathroom, and I don't give a damn about your manifests or your logistics!"
Julian didn't flinch. He remained seated, his gaze fixed on her face, noting the trembling of her hands and the raw anguish in her eyes.
"Who holds the note?" he asked calmly.
"What?"
"The loan. Who is the creditor?"
"I don't know! Some commercial lending company—Apex Capital or something like that."
Julian reached for the sleek black desk phone. He dialed four digits.
"Marcus," Julian said into the receiver. "Apex Capital. Pull the commercial paper issued to Travis Vance in Kenosha County. Purchase the entire debt portfolio before markets close. Instruct the enforcement division to seize Vance’s commercial truck, his inventory, and file a criminal lien for fraudulent asset representation."
A brief pause.
"Yes. Within the hour. Have the deputies serve the injunction at his brother’s residence."
Julian hung up.
Hannah stood frozen in the center of the Persian rug, the breath caught in her throat. Her heart thumped against her ribs like a trapped bird. "What did you just do?"
Julian stood up, buttoning his jacket. "Apex Capital is a subsidiary of a regional mezzanine fund. The fund is owned by a trust. The trust answers to me."
Hannah took a step back, her mind spinning, trying to reconcile the logistics manager who ate soup alone with the man who had just casually liquidated a man's livelihood with a twenty-second phone call. "You own a lending fund?"
Julian walked around the desk, stopping two feet from her. His presence was overwhelming, radiating power and an icy, absolute control that terrified and fascinated her in equal measure.
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"I told you I manage supply chains, Hannah. I never said the cargo was confined to shipping crates." He reached out, his thumb lightly brushing away a stray tear from her cheek. His touch was unexpectedly warm, sending a jolt of electricity through her skin. "Your sister is safe. The men will leave her porch within fifteen minutes. Now, dry your eyes and put on the emerald dress. We have a gala to attend."
***
