Chapter 10 - The Confession in the Hallway
The young man’s smile widened, exposing a small smear of blood along his teeth. "You think Clara was the only mastermind, Mr. Sterling? Some people don't just want money; they want absolute control over the chess board."
Victor pressed his forearm harder against the traitor’s chest, cutting off his breath just enough to wipe the arrogant grin from his face. "Who else is involved? Give me every name, or I swear to God you won't see a courtroom."
"Check your private terminal in the study," the young man choked out, his voice raspy and strained. "The transfer wasn't to the Cayman Islands. It was a loopback. The money is coming from inside your own family trust. Your brother signed off on the proxy two months ago."
Victor froze. The heavy black stone ring on his finger suddenly felt ice cold against his skin. His mind raced back through years of corporate decisions, family gatherings, and subtle power struggles. His younger brother, Julian—the one person he had trusted implicitly with the Sterling name and estate management.
"You're lying," Victor whispered, though the dark logic of the betrayal instantly clicked into place in his mind.
"Am I?" The traitor coughed weakly, his eyes darting toward the end of the corridor. "Check the cameras in the East Wing, Victor. Julian didn't send us to steal data. He sent us to take the heir."
Before Victor could process the devastating implication, a loud, metallic thud echoed from the direction of the master panic room at the end of the corridor.
Victor shoved the traitor violently against the drywall, leaving him for the security guards who were just now rounding the corner in hot pursuit. "Hold him! If he moves an inch, break his legs," Victor ordered without looking back, breaking into a full-speed sprint toward the East Wing.
The door to the master panic room stood half-open. The heavy steel mechanism had been jammed from the outside with a pneumatic wedge, preventing it from sealing shut.
Victor’s heart hammered against his ribs with terrifying force. He reached the doorway in a matter of seconds, drawing his firearm from its holster as he pushed the heavy steel door wide open with his shoulder.
Inside, the room was empty. The glass of warm water Elena had carried earlier lay shattered on the floor, its contents pooling around a small, bloodstained cloth. There was no sign of Elena, and no sign of his infant son.
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On the sleek mahogany table in the center of the panic room, a single smartphone sat propped up against a lamp, its screen glowing brightly with a live video feed of Julian Sterling walking casually out of the mansion's private helipad gates, holding the baby in his arms.
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