She threw wet trash at the servant's face. The servant dropped her to the floor.

The amber glow of Le Bernardin’s dining room buzzed with the quiet, expensive chatter of Manhattan’s elite. Crystal glasses chimed softly against porcelain plates, and the scent of pan-roasted monkfish and delicate herbs hung in the air. Victoria sat in the secluded corner booth Richard had secured, her white blazer contrasting sharply against the dark velvet upholstery. On her left hand, the red gemstone ring caught the candlelight, throwing crimson glints across the table.

Marcus Vance—forty-five, impeccably tailored in a charcoal bespoke suit, with graying temples and the watchful eyes of a man who spent his life surviving political crossfires—sat opposite her. He stirred his sparkling water with a silver spoon, glancing around the room before fixing his gaze on Victoria.

"You’re a bold woman, Victoria," Marcus said, keeping his voice low enough to be swallowed by the ambient restaurant noise. "Inviting the chief of staff of the Federal Reserve regional board to a public dinner after declaring financial war on half the city."

"I don't play in the shadows, Marcus," Victoria replied, taking a slow sip of her chardonnay. "I prefer to conduct my business where people can see me. It keeps my enemies honest."

"And what business do we have?" Marcus asked, leaning back. "I’m a public servant. My interests are strictly monetary policy and banking stability."

"Your interest is an open seat on the International Banking Oversight Committee," Victoria countered smoothly. "An appointment that currently requires Jonathan Sterling’s personal endorsement. An endorsement he’s been dangling in front of you like a carrot on a stick for three years, while ensuring you take the fall for every regulatory failure his office orchestrates."

Marcus’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. A micro-expression of anger flickered across his face before he smoothed it over with a practiced bureaucratic smile. "Sterling is a pillar of the financial community. You’d do well to respect his position."

"Sterling is a criminal hiding behind a federal seal," Victoria said, sliding a single sheet of paper across the white linen tablecloth. It was a copy of the 1998 Swiss bank transfer authorization bearing Sterling’s signature.

Marcus glanced down at the paper. He didn't pick it up, but his eyes scanned the text with lightning speed. When he looked back up at Victoria, the color had drained slightly from his cheeks.

"Where did you get this?" Marcus whispered, his voice tense.

"From a safe deposit box that Arthur Montgomery thought was buried forever," Victoria said calmly. "Jonathan called me this afternoon. He threatened me, Marcus. Just like he threatened my mother twenty-five years ago before her brakes failed on the Henry Hudson Parkway."

The restaurant around them continued its cheerful hum, oblivious to the detonation happening in the corner booth. Marcus stared at Victoria, the reality of the situation settling heavily onto his shoulders.

"You think he killed your mother," Marcus said, not as a question, but as a realization.

"I don't think. I know," Victoria replied. "And you’ve been helping him cover up the trail of offshore accounts that funded the operation ever since. You think you’re his right hand, Marcus? To him, you’re just the guy who takes out the trash when the bags get too heavy."

Marcus looked down at his glass of water, his fingers gripping the stem so tightly his knuckles turned white. "If I turn on him, my career is over. My life could be over."

"If you stay with him, you go down when the federal indictments drop next Tuesday," Victoria stated, laying her gloved right hand flat on the table. "I’m offering you a parachute, Marcus. You hand over the digital encryption keys to Sterling’s private offshore ledger—the one stored on his personal server at home—and I ensure your name is nowhere near the indictment. In fact, when the dust settles, you’ll be the new chairman of the regional board."

Marcus looked up, searching Victoria’s dark, unblinking eyes for any sign of bluff or hesitation. He found none. She was a woman carved out of glacier ice and absolute resolve.

"How do I know you won't throw me under the bus the second you get the keys?" Marcus asked quietly.

"Because I don't break my word to tools," Victoria said coldly. "And because you know as well as I do that Sterling has already prepared your scapegoat file in case the investigation widens. You’re already standing on a trapdoor, Marcus. I’m just offering to catch you before you hit the bottom."

Marcus swallowed hard, the silence stretching between them for agonizing seconds. Finally, he reached into his inner jacket pocket, pulled out a small, encrypted USB flash drive, and laid it beside the paper on the table.

"That contains every transaction, every offshore shell company, and every communication between Sterling and Montgomery from 1998 to last week," Marcus said, his voice barely a breath. "Including the audio file of Sterling discussing your mother’s brake lines."

Victoria’s gaze dropped to the flash drive. A cold, fierce satisfaction bloomed in her chest, but her face remained a mask of absolute composure. She picked up the drive, slipped it into her pocket, and stood up from the table.