He sat back down in his wine-soaked suit. He opened his briefcase and pulled out a backup tablet as his laptop was now sizzling and dead. "Rachel, please activate the satellite internet. I have some urgent emails to send. For the next 2 hours, the atmosphere in first class was toxic. Lydia Beaumont had ordered another drink, though Rachel had refused to serve her alcohol, bringing her a diet Coke instead.
Lydia had spent the last hour loudly complaining to her neighbor in 2F, a bewildered elderly tourist, about how the neighborhood was going down the drain and casting slurs towards seat 1A. Julian, meanwhile, was a flurry of activity. He was connected to the plane's high-speed Wi-Fi. His fingers flew across the tablet screen.
He was not browsing social media. He was logged into a secure server, the federal court electronic records PACER, and his firm's internal communication channel. On-screen text visualization of chat from Julian Cross to junior partner Ryan Torres. Subject: Immediate action. Beaumont Logistics. Ryan, wake up.
Judge Whittaker, I need an emergency injunction. I am currently being assaulted and harassed by the wife of the CEO of our target acquisition. Yes, Lydia Beaumont. She just destroyed my laptop containing the merger files and assaulted me. I want the acquisition accelerated and I want a freezing order on their personal assets for pending litigation.
Do it now. Back in New York, it was 2:00 a.m., but when Julian Cross called, people woke up. Ryan Torres, his junior partner, replied within 3 minutes. On it, boss. Judge Whittaker is at home, but he owes us for the volatile markets case. I am drafting the affidavit now. Do you have proof? Julian lifted his phone.
He had not been just sitting there. He had recorded the last 10 minutes of Lydia's rant on the voice memo app. He sent the audio file. He then typed, Also dig into Victor Beaumont's personal accounts. If his wife is this reckless, the finances are loose. I want leverage. By the time I land in London, I want to own the air she breathes.
Meanwhile, Lydia was getting restless. She noticed Julian typing. She leaned over the aisle, invading his space again. "Who are you texting?" she sneered. "Your dealer?" Julian did not look up. "I am texting your husband's lawyers, actually." Lydia froze. "What?" "Victor Beaumont," Julian said, finally turning to look at her. "Beaumont Logistics based in Newark.
Stock ticker B Log, currently trading at $45 a share, although I suspect that is going to drop significantly by market open tomorrow." "You How do you know that?" Lydia stammered. "I know a lot of things," Julian said calmly. "I know that your husband has been trying to sell the company for 6 months because of liquidity issues.
I know he is desperate for a buyer, and I know that the primary bidder was a firm called Cross, Holt and Associates." He let the name hang in the air. Lydia's face went pale. The name triggered a memory. Her husband had mentioned the Cross deal over dinner last week. He had said it was their lifeline.
He had said, "We have to impress Julian Cross. If he walks away, we are bankrupt." She looked at the man in the wine-stained shirt. She looked at the expensive watch. She looked at the calm, terrifying intelligence in his eyes. "No," she whispered. "You are you are him." "I am," Julian said, "and as of 5 minutes ago, I have instructed my firm to halt the purchase negotiations due to hostile conduct by senior ownership family.
I am also filing a personal lawsuit against you and Victor for assault, destruction of property, and hate speech." "You cannot do that!" Lydia screamed, standing up again, her hands shaking. "You cannot pull the deal! You will ruin us!" "You ruined yourself, Mrs. Beaumont," Julian replied coldly. "But I am not done. You see, I am not just suing you.
