Chapter 9
The marble floor beneath Elena’s boots suddenly felt like thin ice over a freezing lake. The echoes of the terminal seemed to stretch and distort, turning into a ringing sound in her ears. She stared at the frayed manila folder in Julian’s trembling grip, her mind racing back through fragments of childhood memories—her father’s endless nights hunched over drafting tables, the sudden bankruptcy notice that forced them to pack their entire lives into two suitcases, and the quiet despair that broke her mother’s spirit.
"You're lying," Elena said, though the conviction in her voice was faltering. "My father's firm was destroyed by market forces. That's what every official audit stated."
"Official audits are written by the people who pay the auditors," Julian hissed, stepping closer still, desperate to see his poison take root. He tossed the manila folder onto a wooden bench between them. "Open it. Inside are the original patents, your father's signature on uncompensated transfer deeds, and the bank transfer slips routing funds directly from Alexander’s father to the corrupt bureaucrats who signed off on the liquidation. Your new savior, Mr. Val, is sitting on a throne built out of your family's ruin."
Elena looked down at the folder. She didn't touch it. Her hands remained steady at her sides, her breathing deep and controlled, just as it had been on the white-tiled floor of L'Étoile Royale.
"If this is true," Elena said slowly, looking up into Julian’s desperate eyes, "why are you giving it to me? A man who wants justice doesn't hand his only leverage to the victim of his own cruelty."
Julian’s sneer returned, though it was hollow and desperate. "Because I want you to destroy him from the inside. Use your new position as lead architect, get into the corporate vaults, and leak these documents to the federal press. When Val Industries crashes, Alexander will lose everything—just like I did. And you and I? We'll watch him burn."
Before Elena could answer, heavy, measured footsteps echoed behind them down the marble corridor. A pair of tall figures emerged from the shadows of the exit archway—Alexander Val and one of his bodyguards. Val’s face was expressionless, but his eyes carried an intensity that could cut through steel.
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"You're remarkably persistent, Julian," Val said quietly, his voice cutting through the cavernous space. "I told my men to leave you in the alley, not give you access to historical fiction departments."
Julian spun around, clutching the manila folder to his chest like a shield. "It's not fiction, Alexander! The truth is right here. The foundation of your entire empire is stained with her family's blood, and you knew it the moment you laid eyes on her in the restaurant."
