THE DIAMOND, THE CANDY BAR, AND THE TWELVE MILLION DOLLAR SECRET BURYING THE GROOM

The red laser sights of a dozen assault rifles painted the damp brick walls of the utility corridor in a menacing grid. Standing at the front of the armed group was not one of Viktor’s mercenaries, but Director Clara Vance herself, her trench coat dry and immaculate despite the storm raging above. She held a sleek, military-grade scrambler in her hand, her expression one of cold, absolute triumph.

"Did you really think I wouldn't anticipate the utility bypass, Julian?" Clara asked, her voice echoing smoothly down the concrete tunnel. "This was my father's infrastructure project. Every brick and wire was laid under my direct supervision."

Julian stepped in front of Elena and Lily, his body tense, his fingers instinctively tightening around the waterproof pouch containing the twelve million in bearer bonds. "You're too late, Clara. The cryptographic keys were uploaded to an off-site server the moment we breached the hatch."

Clara smiled, a slow, condescending curve of her lips. "Uploads require an active signal, Julian. Look at the tablet in the child's hand."

Lily glanced down at her device. The screen had gone completely black, the battery indicator flatlining with a tiny red X.

"Jammer," Lily murmured, her expression finally betraying a flicker of genuine annoyance. "Rookie move on my part. I should have factored in localized electromagnetic shielding."

"Smart girl," Clara said, nodding toward Lily before shifting her gaze back to Julian. "Now, hand over the pouch. Both of you walk away, and perhaps—just perhaps—I'll let you catch a flight to a country without an extradition treaty."

Elena slowly raised her rifle, her muscles coiled like a spring. "She's lying, Julian. The moment we hand over the bonds, the cleaning crew finishes us."

"And if we don't?" Julian asked, his voice deathly quiet.

"Then you die right here in the sewer where your uncle Viktor spent his final hours," Clara replied, raising her hand to signal her men.

Before the order to fire could leave Clara's lips, the overhead brick ceiling directly above the mercenaries shuddered violently. A low, subterranean rumble—like a freight train barreling down an abandoned track—shook dust and loose mortar down into the water.