Chapter 7 - THE DISAPPEARANCE OF HARPER
Chaos erupted in the conference room.
“Daddy!” Evelyn screamed, rushing forward to grab Arthur’s shoulders as he slid off his chair onto the carpet.
“Call an ambulance!” Harrison shouted, kneeling beside the fallen billionaire while frantically loosening his silk tie.
Marcus was already on his cell phone, barking frantic instructions to emergency dispatchers.
Amidst the screaming and the scrambling, Vincent Romano stood completely still, his hands in his pockets. He looked down at Arthur Sterling’s crumpled form with cold indifference.
“Leo,” Vincent said quietly.
“Boss?” Leo stepped closer, keeping his voice low so the panicked attorneys wouldn't hear.
“Get the paramedics outside when they arrive, but make sure our people control the building exits. I don't want any corporate files leaving this floor tonight.”
“Understood,” Leo nodded. He glanced down at Evelyn, who was sobbing hysterically over her father’s chest. “What about her?”
“Let her cry,” Vincent said, turning toward the door. “She’s about to find out how cold the real world is when you don't have an empire to hide behind.”
Two hours later, Arthur Sterling was resting in a secure private VIP room at Northwestern Memorial Hospital, stabilized under heavy sedation, with federal investigators already stationed outside his door to begin inquiries into corporate fraud.
Meanwhile, back at the Romano penthouse, Vincent stood by the floor-to-ceiling glass windows, holding a glass of amber bourbon. The city lights glittered across the dark surface of the river below.
The front door chimed softly.
Toby, the young cyber-analyst, walked quickly into the study carrying a heavy black laptop.
“Mr. Romano,” Toby said, his voice laced with excitement. “You’re not going to believe what we found on that encrypted partition of the flash drive Harper left in the Union Station locker.”
Vincent turned around, setting his glass down on the marble island. “Talk to me.”
“It wasn't just shipping logs and federal informant memos,” Toby explained, setting the laptop on the desk and tapping the keyboard. “There’s a hidden audio log and a video file recorded approximately forty-eight hours before Harper disappeared.”
“Play it,” Vincent commanded.
Toby hit the spacebar.
The screen flickered to life. The video appeared to be shot from a hidden camera tucked inside the corner of a dimly lit underground parking garage—specifically, the sub-level garage beneath Sterling Capital headquarters.
On screen, a woman with brown hair twisted into a severe bun—Harper—was standing near a concrete pillar, holding a small manila folder against her chest.
Suddenly, a black sedan pulled up. Two men in dark suits stepped out.
Even through the graininess of the security camera, Vincent recognized one of the men immediately: Marcus Vance, Arthur Sterling’s chief financial CFO.
“You shouldn't have been poking around the executive server rooms, little waitress,” audio from the video captured Marcus saying, his voice cold and menacing. “Mr. Sterling’s daughter paid good money to keep those informant logs quiet.”
On the screen, Harper didn't flinch. She looked straight at Marcus with an expression of fierce defiance. “You can fire me. You can threaten me. But the digital copies are already uploaded to a secure dead-man’s switch. The moment anything happens to me, Vincent Romano gets the whole file.”
Marcus’s face twisted in anger. He motioned to the second man, who stepped forward quickly, pressing a white cloth over Harper’s mouth and nose.
Harper struggled, dropping her folder, but within seconds her body went limp. The two men hauled her into the back of the sedan, slammed the door, and sped away into the dark.
The video ended, looping back to a black screen.
Vincent stood motionless in the study. His dark eyes burned with an intensity that made Toby instinctively take a step backward.
“Where was that garage located?” Vincent asked, his voice barely above a whisper.
“Sub-level three of the Sterling Capital building,” Toby replied quickly. “And according to our vehicle tracking database, the license plate on that sedan belongs to a registered company car assigned directly to Marcus Vance.”
Vincent reached down, picked up his suit jacket from the back of the chair, and slid his arms into the sleeves.
“Leo!” Vincent called out sharply.
The heavy oak door swung open instantly. “Boss?”
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“Get every available man in the cars. We’re paying Marcus Vance a late-night visit.” Vincent reached into his jacket, his fingers wrapping around the cold steel grip of his sidearm. “Nobody touches a woman who warns the Romano family and gets away with it. Let’s go find our waitress.”
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