Chapter 1: The Ticking Clock

Chapter 1: The Ticking Clock

The hum of the city thirteen floors below was a distant, muted pulse, a beast Kaelen Vance had long ago learned to ignore. From his corner office, Manhattan was a glittering tapestry of ambition and failure, and he was a master weaver in its design. He swirled the amber liquid in his crystal tumbler—a twenty-five-year-old Macallan that cost more per bottle than most men’s monthly rent. The scent of aged oak and peat was the scent of victory, a fragrance he’d grown accustomed to.

Kaelen Vance hadn’t been born into this world of skyline views and thousand-dollar suits. He had clawed his way into it, armed with a mind that cut like a scalpel and a complete absence of sentimentality. It had earned him a reputation, and a nickname whispered in boardrooms and across hushed conference calls: ‘The Vulture.’ They said he could smell corporate death from a mile away and always knew how to pick the bones clean for his clients.

His gaze drifted to the file on his expansive, obsidian desk. Aethelred Corp. v. Apex Indemnity. A simple case, on the surface. A fire at a key Aethelred manufacturing plant. A clear-cut insurance claim. The problem wasn't the case; it was the number: $250,000,000. And the even bigger problem was the man Aethelred had assigned as his point of contact: Franklin ‘Frank’ Mercer.

Kaelen’s phone, a sleek black slab on the desk, lit up with a pre-programmed reminder. Statute of Limitations: 14 Days.

Fourteen days to file a quarter-billion-dollar lawsuit. And Frank Mercer was playing games.

With a sigh that was more predatory than weary, Kaelen picked up the phone and dialed. He didn’t need to look up the number. He didn’t need to review the file. He remembered every clause, every date, every damning piece of evidence he’d compiled. The problem was the one piece he didn’t have, the one piece Mercer was withholding: the final, internal damage assessment report, signed off by Aethelred's own engineering team. Without it, any claim he filed would be based on preliminary estimates, a weakness the insurer’s lawyers would gleefully exploit.

The phone clicked on the other end. “Mercer.” The voice was oily with unearned self-satisfaction.

“Frank. Kaelen Vance,” Kaelen said, his tone perfectly level, betraying none of his contempt. “I’m calling about the final assessment report.”

“Vance,” Frank grunted, the name drawn out as if it were an unpleasant taste. “Still chasing that ambulance? Look, son, I told you, we’re handling it internally. No need to get you expensive pencil-pushers involved any more than necessary. We’re not made of money.”

Kaelen pictured him then: a man in his late fifties, his balding head gleaming under cheap fluorescent lights, his off-the-rack suit straining at the buttons. A corporate lifer who confused penny-pinching with genius.

“Frank, let me be clear,” Kaelen said, his voice dropping a degree, the chill unmistakable. “The statute of limitations on this claim expires in exactly fourteen days. If we don't file the suit with complete documentation by then, Aethelred Corp. forfeits its right to collect a quarter of a billion dollars. Apex Indemnity will walk away without paying a cent, and they will send you a thank-you card.”

There was a huff of derisive laughter. “Don’t you try and scare me with your lawyer tricks, Vance. I’ve been in this business since you were in diapers. This is a negotiation tactic. We show them we’re not desperate, we don’t run to our lawyers at the first sign of trouble. It’s all part of the game.”

The game. Kaelen’s grip tightened on his glass. This fool thought he was playing checkers when the board was set for chess, and the queen was about to be taken. Frank wasn't just incompetent; he was arrogant in his incompetence, the most dangerous combination Kaelen knew.

“This isn't a game, Frank. This is a deadline. A legal, unmovable deadline. I need the signed report on my desk by end of day tomorrow, or I cannot guarantee a favorable outcome.”

“You’ll get it when I’m good and ready to give it to you,” Mercer snapped. “Stop trying to run up the damn billable hours. I’ll handle the timing.”

The line went dead.

Kaelen slowly placed the receiver back in its cradle. The silence in the office was absolute. For a long moment, he didn’t move. The desire to simply let the man burn, to watch Aethelred Corp lose the quarter-billion and then sue Mercer into oblivion, was a tempting fire. But that wasn’t the play. Letting a client fail was sloppy. Letting a client fail while making sure the person responsible was surgically and publicly removed from the equation… that was art.

He knew exactly what Mercer was doing. When the deadline passed and the money vanished, Frank would claim he’d sent the documents, that the high-priced, arrogant lawyer must have dropped the ball. He would manufacture an email trail, create a narrative of his own diligence and Kaelen’s failure. He was setting Kaelen up to be the scapegoat.

A slow, cold smile touched Kaelen’s lips. It didn’t reach his eyes. Frank Mercer thought he was setting a trap for a vulture. He didn't realize the vulture had been circling for weeks, waiting for him to step into a snare of his own making.

Kaelen turned to his computer. His fingers flew across the keyboard, composing a new email. The recipient was Frank Mercer. The subject line was bland, professional: Follow-Up: Apex Indemnity Claim #774-B.

The body of the email was a masterpiece of polite, undeniable fact.

Frank,

Thank you for the call today. Per our conversation, I wish to formally memorialize my legal advice regarding the impending statute of limitations on this matter, which, as of today, October 17th, stands at 14 days.

To proceed with filing the complaint against Apex Indemnity for the full insured value of $250,000,000, my office requires the final, signed Internal Damage Assessment (Project Code: AET-IDA-088), which you currently hold.

As discussed, filing without this key document would be strategically unsound and expose Aethelred Corp. to significant risk of partial or full dismissal. Please forward the document at your earliest convenience.

Best,

Kaelen Vance

He paused, his cursor hovering over the ‘Send’ button. This email was the first nail in Frank’s corporate coffin. It was time-stamped, specific, and referenced their conversation. But it wasn't enough. He needed the document. Frank wouldn't send it, but someone else might.

With a subtle click, he opened the ‘Cc’ field. He typed in a name he’d pulled from the initial employee manifest: David Chen, Junior Financial Analyst, Mercer’s Team. A low-level nobody. A kid who probably did all of Frank’s actual work and would see a direct request from the company’s legendary outside counsel as a command from God himself. The kid wouldn’t question it; he would just execute. It was a subtle flanking maneuver, bypassing the obstructive general to arm the diligent foot soldier.

He added a single sentence before his signature.

David, please see that I get a copy of the final AET-IDA-088 report for our files. Thanks.

He hit send.

The trap was laid. The bait was out. Now, all he had to do was wait for the clock to run out and for the screaming to begin. He knew the name of the person who would be doing the loudest screaming wasn't Frank Mercer, but the woman who had just taken over Aethelred’s legal department—the CEO's daughter, Isla Vance. He had a feeling she didn't appreciate losing a quarter of a billion dollars.

Less than five minutes later, a notification pinged in his inbox.

From: David Chen Subject: RE: Follow-Up: Apex Indemnity Claim #774-B

Attached as requested, Mr. Vance. Please let me know if you need anything else.

Attached was the signed, finalized report. The key.

Kaelen opened the file, his eyes scanning the data with photographic precision. It was all there. Perfect. He dragged the attachment to the secure case folder, then, without a moment’s hesitation, he deleted his sent email to Frank and David from his own server. There was no need for a paper trail on his end. Not yet. Let Frank think his little stonewalling act was working.

He leaned back in his chair, taking another sip of scotch. He looked at the calendar on his screen. Thirteen days left. Thirteen days of silence. The Vulture was patient. The feast would be all the more satisfying for the wait.

Characters

Franklin 'Frank' Mercer

Franklin 'Frank' Mercer

Isla Vance

Isla Vance

Kaelen 'Kael' Vance

Kaelen 'Kael' Vance