Chapter 11 - The Bottom Compartment
Chloe and Julian turned their attention back to the open leather briefcase resting on top of the mountain of cup noodles. Arthur Vance stepped closer, using the ivory handle of his cane to pry open a false bottom panel inside the case. With a soft click, a hidden compartment popped open, revealing a single, slim flash drive and a handwritten note bearing Victoria’s sharp, slashing handwriting.
Julian picked up the note, his eyes scanning the ink. "It’s addressed to me."
"Read it aloud," Chloe said quietly, her instincts telling her the danger wasn't over yet.
Julian swallowed hard, his voice steadying as he read the words written by his mother's hand: "If you are reading this, Harrison failed and the authorities have seized the primary accounts. But a dynasty isn't built on bank balances, Julian. It’s built on leverage. The real assets aren't in New York. They are buried in the foundation's overseas properties. And the only person who holds the cryptographic keys to unlock them is the girl you brought to the gala."
Julian stopped reading, his gaze darting immediately to Chloe. "What does she mean? What cryptographic keys?"
Chloe stared at the note, her expression freezing in sudden realization. She reached instinctively into the pocket of her light purple tweed jacket, patting the fabric. Her face turned pale.
"My backup drive," Chloe whispered, her hand frantically searching every pocket. "The one containing my thesis research and my personal digital ID... it’s gone."
Arthur Vance leaned on his cane, his weathered face tightening with alarm. "Are you certain you had it when you walked into the ballroom?"
"I had it when I pulled out the receipt during our argument with Victoria," Chloe said, her voice rising with panic. "When she lunged at me... she must have slipped it out of my pocket."
Julian grabbed the slim flash drive from the briefcase, handing it to the federal tech specialist who had just walked back into the ballroom. "Plug this in. Now. Let's see what my mother left behind."
The tech agent connected the flash drive to his portable terminal. A line of green code scrolled rapidly across the screen before a single video file popped up, titled simply: Checkmate.
"Play it," Julian commanded.
The agent hit play. The screen flickered, and Victoria’s face appeared, recorded in what looked like a dimly lit private airfield hangar. She wasn't wearing her dark purple suit or her diamond star brooches; she wore a simple trench coat, looking directly into the camera with an icy, triumphant smile.
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"If you're watching this," Victoria’s recorded voice echoed through the grand ballroom, "it means my legal team has fallen, but my final insurance policy has just been activated."
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