Chapter 5 - The Phantom Obituary
The morning sun cast long, grim shadows across the cobblestones of the Vance estate courtyard. Outside, the world went on as normal, completely unaware that inside the fortress-like walls of the mansion, a silent war was being waged. No one had been allowed to leave since the previous night. The guests were confined to the guest wing under heavy guard, their phones confiscated to prevent any leaks to the press.
In the master dining hall, Eleanor sat at the long mahogany table, tapping rhythmically on her laptop keyboard. Across from her sat Arthur, nursing a black coffee he hadn't touched in an hour. The heavy double doors opened, and head of security Marcus stepped in, holding a encrypted satellite phone.
"We patched the call through to Zurich, Mr. Vance," Marcus reported, his voice low and professional. "Viktor is on the line. He thinks he's speaking to Clara's burner phone."
Arthur nodded slowly. He reached out, picked up the receiver, and pressed the speaker button, gesturing for Eleanor to start recording.
"Clara? Status report. Did the package deliver?" Viktor’s voice crackled through the small speaker, smooth, confident, and entirely devoid of human empathy.
Arthur looked at Eleanor, taking a steadying breath before mimicking a panicked, breathless whisper designed to sound like his granddaughter under extreme duress. "Uncle Viktor... it's done. But... but something went wrong. The boy... he ate a piece of it before we could stop him."
Silence stretched across the international line for three agonizing seconds. When Viktor spoke again, his voice wasn't filled with horror or grief—it was laced with a chilling, triumphant greed.
"Is he dead?" Viktor asked sharply.
"He's gone, Viktor. An ambulance just left the gates," Arthur lied, his voice trembling with genuine rage that he expertly masked as fear. "The police are swarming the property. Eleanor found the capsule wrapper. They're looking for you, Viktor. They know you wired the funds."
"They can't prove a damn thing. Swiss banking secrecy laws protect the routing numbers, and the front company in the Caymans can't be traced back to my personal accounts," Viktor laughed softly on the other end, a dark, unsettling sound. "As for the police, let them look. Once the probate court convenes tomorrow morning, the trust automatically reverts to the surviving adult heirs—which means me and Clara. We won, old man."
"You didn't win anything, Viktor," Arthur said, dropping the disguise entirely, his voice hardening into cold, unforgiving steel.
The line went dead silent in Zurich.
"Dad?" Viktor’s voice dropped its arrogant facade, replaced by sudden, frantic panic. "What are you talking about? Who is this?"
"This is your father," Arthur said clearly, leaning close to the microphone. "And I want you to listen very carefully, Viktor. You have exactly twenty-four hours to board a private flight back to this estate, walk through those front doors, and surrender yourself to federal authorities. If you aren't here by tomorrow at noon..."
Arthur paused, locking eyes with Eleanor, who nodded slightly.
"...I'm releasing the unredacted financial audits to the Department of Justice, and I'm personally cutting off every single offshore account, credit card, and trust fund attached to your name. You'll spend the rest of your life running from cartels and federal agents alike."
"You wouldn't dare," Viktor hissed. "You'll destroy the family name!"
"The family name was already destroyed the moment you decided to murder a six-year-old child over a bank account," Arthur snarled, and slammed the receiver down onto the cradle, cutting off Viktor’s desperate screaming.
He slumped back into his chair, breathing heavily. He looked at Eleanor, expecting her to offer words of comfort, but her expression remained rigid as she stared at her laptop screen.
"Arthur," Eleanor said quietly, turning the laptop around so he could see the incoming data feed. "Viktor isn't in Zurich anymore. The IP address on that call didn't originate from Switzerland."
Arthur frowned, leaning in closer. "Where was the call coming from?"
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"Terminal 4 at JFK International Airport," Eleanor whispered, her eyes wide. "He didn't wait for tomorrow morning. He’s already in the country. And based on the private jet landing logs... he’s landing at our private airstrip right now."
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