Chapter 10 - The Geolocation Trap
The sudden drop in illumination from the phone screen left the hotel lounge in an eerie, dim twilight. Julian pulled his arm back from Victoria’s grip, staring down at the glowing GPS coordinate displayed on his own device, which had miraculously rebooted just seconds prior.
"Geneva," Julian whispered, reading the numbers aloud. "Rue du Rhône, suite 402. That’s the private archive vault beneath Marcus’s primary chambers."
Victoria crossed her arms, her white blazer pulled tightly around her as if trying to ward off a sudden chill. "It’s a trap. She wants us to chase her across the border so she can corner us in her home territory where her legal team has absolute jurisdiction."
"What choice do we have?" Julian shot back, his voice rising in frustration as he ran a hand through his hair. "If we stay here, the Swiss authorities freeze our assets by morning and we’re facing criminal charges before breakfast. If we drive to Geneva, at least we have a chance to speak to her face-to-face and negotiate a settlement before the papers go public."
"You really think she’s going to sit down and negotiate after everything that’s happened?" Victoria asked bitterly, though the fierce conviction in her voice was beginning to fray at the edges. "She locked us out of the corporate network, severed our credit lines, and had her lawyer threaten us with extradition in the span of twelve hours. She isn't looking for a compromise, Julian. She wants blood."
Julian didn't answer immediately. He walked over to the tall, rain-streaked window and looked out into the deserted Parisian street below, where a single black town car sat idling at the curb, its headlights cutting through the heavy mist.
"That car," Julian muttered, pointing down toward the vehicle. "Look at the license plate prefix. That’s a Geneva diplomatic transport plate."
Victoria stepped up beside him, pressing her face against the cold glass. Her breath fogged the surface as she squinted through the rain. Sure enough, the discreet black sedan bore the unmistakable consular markers of the Swiss delegation—the exact vehicle Camilla had used to arrive at the airport earlier that morning.
Before either of them could speak, Julian’s phone buzzed aggressively in his palm. A new text message appeared on the screen, bypassing all encryption filters with terrifying simplicity.
The car is waiting. You have ten minutes to decide whether you want to salvage your future or watch it burn from a prison cell.
May you like
Julian looked over at Victoria, seeing the absolute panic finally breaking through her impenetrable corporate facade. Without waiting for her consent, he grabbed his green jacket off the back of the chair and headed straight for the private service exit leading down to the subterranean garage.
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