Chapter 55: Top Secret Revealed
Alistair Vant’s arrival didn’t just silence the room; it froze it solid. The buzzing fluorescents sounded deafening in the vacuum of sound. Priya dropped her styrofoam cup, coffee splattering unnoticed across the pristine marble near her trembling feet. Boom looked like he might be sick. Derek’s furious flush drained away, leaving his face the color of spoiled milk. Liam’s phone lay forgotten, a tiny crack spiderwebbing across its screen. Even Karn’s predatory smile settled into a mask of cool observation, his eyes sharp.
Vant’s gaze, cold and assessing, swept over them all before settling on Derek and Liam. He didn’t shout. His voice, when it came, was low, controlled, and cut through the tension like a scalpel. "Good afternoon, gentlemen... and ladies," he added, his icy eyes briefly touching the circle of Pete’s former friends. "A rather unconventional gathering on a Saturday. Mr. Thorne," he nodded fractionally towards Karn, his expression unreadable, "thank you for your... timely intervention." He didn’t wait for a response. His attention snapped back to Derek and Liam. "Potter. Carter. Perhaps you’d be so kind as to enlighten me. Explain precisely what is transpiring in my executive meeting room?"
Derek found his voice, though it cracked like thin ice. "Sir! This is... it's a misunderstanding! Riverton here–" he jabbed a shaking finger at Pete, who remained immobile beside Karn, "–is a Red Tag infiltrator! From Titan! He barged in, dressed like some circus performer in purple! And Thorne just followed him, making wild accusations! We were just... containing the situation!"
Liam nodded frantically, finding his phone and waving it vaguely. "Yes! We have evidence! We recorded Riverton’s aggressive entry!" His attempt sounded pathetic even to himself.
Vant didn't glance at Pete or Karn. His gaze remained fixed on his executives. A muscle twitched near his jawline. "Aggressive entry? Containing the situation?" His voice dropped another degree. "Fascinating. Because I was under the distinct impression, corroborated by Mr. Thorne’s briefing, that you orchestrated a meeting. That you specifically requested Mr. Riverton attend. Dressed," his eyes flickered briefly to Pete’s immaculate purple suit, "...inappropriately, according to you. And that you then subjected him, and Titan by extension, to a spectacle witnessed by these... guests." He gestured dismissively towards the cowering circle.
He paused, letting the weight of his words, and his implicit knowledge, settle. Then, he turned slightly. Nashville?" A sleek woman in a severe black suit, previously unnoticed near the door, stepped forward holding a slim tablet. "Kindly display the relevant footage on the main screen. Start from the beginning."
The vast screen dominating one wall flickered to life. High-definition, crystal clear, and crucially – silent until the audio clicked on. It showed the Grand Meeting Room, empty save for Derek and Liam lounging by the entrance. The timestamp: earlier that afternoon. Derek’s voice, tinny but unmistakable, filled the room: "He better show in that stupid red monkey suit. Primed for a proper takedown." Liam chuckled on screen, "Bet he’s sweating already. Wonder if he’ll try to argue this time? Or just stand there like the useless lump he is."
Pete’s former friends shifted uncomfortably. Sarah looked down at her hands, face burning.
The footage jumped. Pete entered, resplendent in his deep red tailcoat suit. Derek and Liam approached, their body language instantly aggressive. The audio captured Derek’s sneering "Look what the cat dragged in. And dressed like a walking fire hydrant..." Liam’s flick of the lapel. Pete’s stoic response. Then, flanked by Derek and Liam, Pete was guided into the room to face the circle. The insults began. Boom’s voice: "Trying to impress someone? Or just remembering the good old days when clothes were optional?" Priya’s cruel smirk: "We kinda miss the authentic Pete. The one we saw last month?" Chris’s drawl: "There was a certain… honesty about you back then. Standing there, buck naked, useless."
On screen, Pete stood rigid, taking the barrage. In the present room, the real Pete maintained his stance, but Karn saw the slight tightening around his eyes. The video captured every mocking laugh, every pointed finger, the palpable atmosphere of gleeful malice.
Then came Derek’s command, sharp and clear on the audio: "Enough reminiscing. Strip. Now." Liam fumbled for his phone on screen, aiming it. Pete’s voice, laced with a surprising bitterness: "Fine. If seeing me naked is the only thing that gets you through the day..." The dramatic tearing of the red suit, revealing the purple beneath. The collective gasp from the screen’s audience mirrored the shock still visible on the faces in the room.
The screen flickered again. The scene changed. Same room, slightly different angle. It was clearly another day – Pete’s former friends were present, but dressed more casually. Derek stood at the head of the table, Liam beside him, Jason, Ball, Sarah, Benji, Mia, Thomas, Chris, Priya, and Boom arrayed around, leaning in conspiratorially. Beer bottles littered the table. This wasn't humiliation; this was planning.
Derek’s voice, slightly slurred but full of arrogant confidence, boomed from the speakers: "...a hundred K? Peanuts. The contracts passing through here? Titan’s pouring cash into the joint venture. Vantage handles the disbursements. We skim a point-five here, a point-five there... routed through the Cayman shell Vant’s idiot assistant set up for little bonus scheme..." He took a swig. "Bit by bit, mates. Slow and steady. Won't make the shit Alistair knew what we were..." He stopped abruptly, eyes widening slightly as if realizing he’d said too much, even in this private setting.
The video froze on Derek’s suddenly apprehensive face, mid-gulp. The audio cut. The silence in the Grand Meeting Room was absolute. The only sound was Derek Potter’s ragged, panicked breathing. Alistair Vant turned slowly, glacially, to face his executives and their co-conspirators. His expression was arctic.
"Kindly explain," he said, his voice deceptively soft, colder than liquid nitrogen, "that."
The frozen image of Derek’s slack-jawed greed hung on the vast screen, a silent accusation echoing louder than any shout. Alistair Vant’s gaze, colder than the polished marble floor, swept over the eleven figures who’d shared Derek’s table. Priya stared fixedly at her coffee stain, Boom pressed a fist against his mouth, and Thomas seemed to be shrinking into his chair. The air crackled with impending doom.
Jason lurched forward, his voice cracking like cheap plastic. "Sir! Mr. Vant! Please! It... it wasn't serious! It was just... locker room talk! A stupid prank we played on our old friend Pete! Harmless!" His eyes darted desperately towards Pete, who met them with a flat, unreadable stare. "Right, Pete? Just... just messing around?"
Before Pete could even process the audacity, Ms. Nashville, standing beside Vant with an air of cool efficiency, spoke up. Her voice was crisp, cutting through Jason’s plea. "We also possess surveillance footage," she stated, her gaze lingering on each of the eleven, "from the Grand Meeting Room, dated precisely one month ago." A collective flinch ran through them. "It depicts Mr. Riverton, completely unclothed, forced onto this very table." Her eyes flickered towards Pete, a flicker of something unreadable – pity, perhaps, or professional disdain for the mess. "He was subjected to... sustained torment by all eleven individuals present in this room."
She paused, letting the horrific image form in everyone’s minds. "Given the graphic and degrading nature of that footage," she continued, her tone clinical, "and out of respect for Mr. Riverton’s dignity, I am reluctant to display it publicly. Its existence, however, is undeniable." The silence intensified, thick and suffocating. No one moved. No one breathed. Jason’s mouth hung open, his "prank" defense utterly vaporized.
Alistair Vant observed their petrified stillness, their inability to refute Nashville’s claim. His jaw tightened fractionally. "Your collective silence," he pronounced, each word dropping like a stone, "speaks volumes. It leads me to an unavoidable conclusion: each individual identified in that undisclosed footage actively participated in actions flagrantly violating Vantage Dynamics’ core tenets. Zero tolerance for corruption. Zero tolerance for bullying or the deliberate degradation of personnel, especially those from partner entities like Titan." His icy gaze swept over them like a searchlight. "Your presence in that room, captured during such an event, implicates you directly."
Without waiting for a response, Nashville stepped towards Derek, who was trembling visibly. "Your phone, Mr. Potter," she demanded, her hand outstretched. Derek instinctively clutched it tighter, a panicked animal protecting its kill. "Now," Vant added, the single syllable cracking like a whip. Derek flinched, fumbling, nearly dropping the device before Nashville smoothly plucked it from his sweaty grasp.
She navigated the phone with swift expertise, bypassing the lock – Vant’s security clearance was absolute. Within seconds, she handed the open device to her CEO. Vant’s expression, already glacial, hardened further as he scrolled. He stopped, holding the screen up briefly. Pete caught a glimpse – himself, naked, hunched, humiliated, captured forever on Derek’s phone from last month's ordeal. "Evidence," Vant stated flatly, "of personal misconduct and harassment. Added to the conspiracy to defraud this company."
Derek found a sliver of voice, a strangled cry. "That's private! He was a Red Tag! It was... sanctioned! Titan allows it!" He was flailing, drowning. "I didn't mean... It wasn't just me! Liam! Tell him!"
But before Liam could add his own desperate denial, the heavy double doors burst open once more. Not security this time. A flood of people – thirty-eight Vantage Dynamics employees, cramming the doorway, spilling into the room. They weren't executives; they were admins, junior analysts, support staff, their faces etched with a mix of fear and newfound resolve. Their collective presence was overwhelming.
A woman near the front, her voice trembling but clear, spoke for them all. "Mr. Vant, Sir! It wasn't just Mr. Riverton they forced!" She pointed an accusatory finger at Derek and Liam. "They forced us! Potter and Carter! They ordered us...to..." She swallowed hard, her cheeks flushing crimson. "...to use our feet. On Mr. Riverton. While he was naked. To... to touch him. To make him... react." A murmur of agreement and shame rippled through the group. "We didn't want to! We didn't want to degrade him! But they were executives! They threatened our positions! We had no choice!"
Pete stared at the sea of faces. Recognition slammed into him – the strained expressions, the averted eyes, the palpable discomfort he’d seen on each one as he’d been forced to crawl naked between them, begging for the degrading touch of their toes. They hadn't been laughing then. They’d looked trapped. Terrified. Just like he was.
Alistair Vant slowly turned from the damning phone in his hand to face the thirty-eight testifiers, then back to the petrified circle of schemers and tormentors, finally landing his arctic gaze on Derek and Liam. The quiet fury radiating from him was more terrifying than any shout. He didn't need to say another word. The avalanche of their corruption and cruelty had just buried them alive. The reckoning had arrived.
The reckoning had arrived. Alistair Vant didn't shout. He didn't need to. His voice sliced through the thick silence, cold and precise. Nashville." She snapped to attention, tablet ready. "Secure this room. Now." Her nod was a blade unsheathing. She turned to the thirty-eight employees crowding the doorway, their faces pale but resolute. "You heard Mr. Vant. Contain them." It wasn't a request. It was the starting gun.
The previously terrified junior staff transformed into a coordinated wave. They surged forward, a tide of ordinary admin workers and analysts suddenly empowered. No fancy moves, just overwhelming numbers and righteous momentum. Derek yelped, "You can't touch me!" as three people grabbed his arms. Liam scrambled backwards, tripping over his own discarded phone, landing hard on the marble. "Get off!" he shrieked, kicking uselessly as hands pinned his shoulders. The circle of Pete's former friends – Boom, Priya, Chris, Jason, Sarah, Ball, Benji, Mia, Thomas – froze like startled deer before the tide hit them. Shouts, scuffles, the sharp rip of fabric filled the air. "What is this?!" Priya gasped, struggling against two determined assistants. "Alistair! Sir!" Boom pleaded, his voice cracking, already forced to his knees beside Derek.
Within moments, it was over. Zip-ties hissed, cutting into wrists with brutal efficiency. The eleven figures were forced onto their knees in a ragged line before the vast conference table, arms wrenched behind their backs. Derek strained against his bonds, face crimson, sputtering incoherent threats. Liam stared at the floor, defeated and trembling. The others whimpered, avoiding Pete's gaze, their earlier mocking bravado replaced by stark terror. Pete watched, a strange mix of relief and vindication settling in his chest. He actually did it. Just… stopped them. Cold. Alistair Vant’s sharp, uncompromising action was deeply impressive. Justice, it seemed, could be swift and merciless.
The high-pitched chirp of Karn’s phone cut through the low sounds of struggle and panic. He pulled it smoothly from his pocket, glanced at the screen, and raised an eyebrow. "Victoria?" He listened intently for a few seconds, a flicker of surprise crossing his usual composure. "Understood. We’re coming down. Now." He ended the call, his eyes locking onto Alistair and Pete. "Change of plans. We need to move. Immediately. To the main entrance." His tone brooked no argument. "Victoria and Henderson are waiting. And they’ve apparently caught us a rather large rat."
Alistair didn't hesitate. He gave a final, dismissive glance at the kneeling figures. Nashville. Police. Now. Process them." His voice was glacial. "Full charges: conspiracy, fraud, harassment, degrading treatment. Use all evidence." He turned to the thirty-eight employees standing guard, their expressions fierce. "Assist Ms. Nashville. Ensure they remain secured until authorities arrive." A chorus of firm "Yes, Mr. Vant"s echoed. Nashville was already dialing, her voice crisp and authoritative.
Without another word, Alistair, Karn, and Pete strode from the Grand Meeting Room, leaving the tableau of bound captives and their vigilant guards behind. The polished hallway blurred past as they moved quickly towards the elevators. The silence was heavy, charged with Karn’s cryptic message. What kind of 'rat' warranted Victoria's personal involvement at the entrance? Pete’s mind raced, trying to reconcile the efficient takedown he’d just witnessed with this sudden detour.
The sleek elevator descended rapidly, the digital numbers flashing downwards. They stepped out into the soaring, glass-walled lobby of Vantage Dynamics. Harsh midday light streamed in, glinting off the polished floors. Near the towering main entrance doors stood Victoria Vongola, CEO of Nova Forge, radiating an aura of contained amusement. Beside her was Henderson, her imposing partner, his arms crossed, looking grimly satisfied. And kneeling on the cold marble before them, hunched over, hands secured tightly behind his back with thick cord, was a figure Pete recognized instantly.
The shock hit Pete like a physical blow, stealing his breath. A strangled cry tore from his throat. "Mark?!"
It was Mark. His former desk-mate from the Titan Bullpen. The Red Tag who always seemed strangely eager when Purple Tags demanded revealing clothing. The one who’d somehow always managed to get visibly, unmistakably excited during those degrading uniform checks. Now he knelt, head bowed, shoulders slumped, the picture of utter defeat, under Victoria’s cool, appraising gaze.