Chapter 5
The elite guests pressed themselves so tightly against the gilded walls that they seemed desperate to melt into the wallpaper. None of them dared to make a sound, acutely aware that the very people who had cheered for Lyra’s two-hundredth lash were now entirely at the mercy of the man who owned half the judiciary and financial regulatory bodies in the country.
"You may leave," Arthur said quietly, his voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. "Use the service elevators in the rear. If I see any of your faces in financial districts, private clubs, or boardrooms within the next forty-eight hours, you will join Julian in federal custody."
Without a second invitation, the wealthy socialites scrambled away in a chaotic, undignified stampede, tripping over their designer gowns and tuxedos as they fled the blood-stained estate. Within seconds, the grand ballroom was empty, save for Arthur, Lyra, the tactical cleanup crew, and Clara’s motionless body near the drinks table.
Lyra walked slowly over to the mahogany table, picked up an unbroken crystal flute, and poured herself a glass of sparkling water. Her movements were fluid, deliberate, and entirely calm.
"You waited too long to come back, Dad," Lyra said softly, her back still turned to him.
Arthur walked over, stopping a few feet away, his expression softening into profound, paternal grief as he looked at the brutal red welts crisscrossing her spine. "I had to build the trap, my girl. If I had moved too soon, Julian’s political protectors in Washington would have buried the investigation. I needed every single collaborator to compromise themselves publicly under this roof tonight."
Lyra turned around, her pink hair catching the crystal light overhead. "And Clara?"
"Clara’s lungs collapsed before the ambulance could clear the front gate," Arthur said evenly. "She died knowing her empire died with her."
Lyra took a sip of the water, setting the glass down with a soft click. "Julian still has his grandfather's diary in the safe behind the library portrait. That's where the real money is hidden—the illegal mining concessions in South America that funded this entire estate."
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Arthur nodded slowly, a dark smile touching the corners of his mouth. "The tactical team is already there. But there's something else you need to know about that diary, Lyra. Something Julian didn't write, but your mother left behind before she died."
Before Lyra could ask what her mother had left behind, the lead tactical commander burst back into the ballroom, holding a charred, blood-stained leather ledger in his gloved hands, his face pale with shock.
