Where the green grass grows ch 12

The Squeeze on Hunter Oil

The corporate glass tower of Hunter Oil pierced the Los Angeles skyline like a polished silver needle, but inside the executive penthouse suite, the atmosphere was suffocatingly tense. Noah Hunter sat behind his massive minimalist desk, staring down at an open folder of transit reports. His tie was loosened, his posture still maintaining a trace of his characteristic billionaire confidence, though the pressure from John Ross Ewing’s hovering presence in the city was starting to grate on his nerves.

The heavy, soundproof double doors of his office swung open without a warning chime. Noah snapped his head up, his expression instantly morphing into an aggressive, sharp scowl as Gina Kincaid strolled casually into the inner sanctum. Her heels clicked sharply against the imported marble flooring, and she carried the slim, encrypted leather portfolio under her arm.

"What is the meaning of this?" Noah stood up, slamming his hands onto his desk. "My security team doesn't let anyone past the elevator bank without a clearance badge. Who the hell do you think you are? Get out of my office before I have you thrown out of the building."

Gina didn't even blink. A cold, thoroughly amused smile played on her lips as she walked straight to the center of the room. Instead of backing down, she unzipped her leather portfolio and dropped a glossy, high-density digital storage drive onto the polished mahogany right in front of him.

"You can call your security team if you want, Noah," Gina said smoothly, her voice a purr of absolute authority. "But if you do, the next person walking through those doors won't be a guard in a blazer. It’ll be a federal task force with a warrant that will strip your family name off this building before sunset."

Noah's jaw tightened, his hand freezing over his desk phone. He looked from the drive up to Gina's unyielding eyes, a sudden prickle of cold sweat hitting his neck. "What is that?"

"That is your corporate obituary," Gina said, leaning forward and resting her hands on the edge of his desk, completely invading his space. "I run Kincaid Intelligence. John Ross Ewing hired me to dig up the fractures in your foundation so he could force a hostile buyout. And boy, did I find them. That drive contains the complete, unredacted financial map of the seven-figure wire transfers Hunter Oil sent to the Vance Foundation for Justice."

Noah tried to muster a dismissive chuckle, though it came out hollow. "That’s a legitimate, public charitable donation to a popular campus movement. It’s a tax write-off, Kincaid. There's nothing illegal about a corporation supporting a social cause."

"It looks like a donation on the surface, Noah. That's what you told yourself to sleep at night," Gina countered, her voice dropping into a harsh, clinical whisper. "But my agency traced where that money went after it left the foundation. Jasper Vance is using your capital to fund international cartel networks disguised as South American freedom fighters. And his wife, Annie, along with Colin Robbins, are physically smuggling uncut diamonds and blood money through the custom frames of fine art at the Beach Club to launder the proceeds right back into your network. You didn't just make a donation, Noah. You are legally documented as the primary financial engine backing an international criminal ring."

The color drained entirely from Noah's face. The smooth coastal executive completely collapsed into his chair, staring at the small digital drive as if it were a live grenade. "I... I didn't know the extent of Jasper's operations. I was told the capital was being repositioned for foreign oil asset acquisition once territorial governments changed hands. I was looking at the returns. I didn't know about Colin or the diamonds."

"The federal government doesn't care about your ignorance, Noah. Your signature is on the routing sheets," Gina said, straightening up and pulling a fresh set of corporate legal documents from her portfolio, sliding them directly over the drive. "You are completely cornered. You are pinned between a federal prison cell on one side, and John Ross Ewing's corporate wolves on the other. But I'm giving you a third option."

Noah looked up at her, his eyes desperate, his hands trembling slightly as he touched the edges of the legal pages. "What option?"

"A complete reassignment of power," Gina said, her eyes flashing with a dangerous, triumphant brilliance. "You are going to sign a majority stake of your personal shares in Hunter Oil over to me. Right now. In exchange, this master drive stays in my possession, the cartel evidence is permanently buried, and you walk away clean from the Feds."

Noah stared at the signature line on the document, his heart hammering against his ribs. "You're insane. If I sign this, I lose control of my family's legacy. I lose everything I've built."

"If you don't sign it, you lose your freedom," Gina said flatly, checking her watch with an icy composure. "I'll give you exactly sixty seconds to make your choice, Noah. Sign the papers and let me handle the fallout, or I take this drive straight to the authorities and watch Hunter Oil burn from the front row. Clock's ticking."

Noah looked down at the pen on his desk, the silence in the room deafening as the weight of Gina's ultimate corporate squeeze pressed down on him, leaving him completely broken.