Chapter 11
Viktor’s confident smile faltered for a fraction of a second as his eyes locked onto the red wax seal in Clara’s hand. He took a sharp step forward, his hand instinctively reaching out toward the table.
“Hand that over, Clara,” Viktor ordered, his voice losing its smooth composure and revealing a sudden, desperate edge. “You don't understand the legal Pandora’s box you’re opening. If that document is destroyed or altered, neither of us walks out of here with a functioning company.”
“Destroyed?” Clara asked, holding the parchment slightly out of reach while keeping her posture rigid and defensive. “We have no intention of destroying it, Uncle Viktor. We’re going to hand it directly to federal prosecutor Miller tomorrow morning along with the audio recordings of this conversation.”
Viktor’s associates tensed, stepping closer as their employer shot them a sharp, sideways glance. The air in the vault grew suffocatingly dense.
“You think your guards can intimidate us here?” Arthur spoke up, stepping forward to stand shoulder-to-shoulder with his daughter. Despite his age, Arthur’s presence remained formidable. “Every security camera in this subterranean level is wired directly to the federal marshal’s automated backup server. The moment you stepped through those vault doors, a silent red-flag alert was transmitted upstairs. The marshals are already on their way down.”
Viktor stopped dead in his tracks. He stared at his brother, searching for any sign of a bluff, but found only the cold, unyielding resolve of a man who had already lost too much to back down now. Viktor’s jaw tightened. He knew the federal net was closing faster than he had anticipated. His plan relied on speed, secrecy, and surprise—all three of which had just evaporated under Clara’s calculated foresight.
“You think you’ve won, Arthur?” Viktor hissed softly, bitterness dripping from every syllable. “You’ve inherited a dying empire of concrete and glass. When the green energy transition bankrupts this corporation within five years, remember that you fought tooth and nail to keep a burning house.”
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Before Viktor could signal his men to make a desperate move, the heavy metallic thud of reinforced elevator doors sliding open echoed down the corridor, followed by the heavy, rhythmic boots of federal marshals shouting orders outside.
Viktor’s associates exchanged panicked glances, their hands dropping away from their jackets as the corridor illuminated with flashing red emergency lights. Viktor closed his eyes for a brief moment, accepting defeat with quiet, venomous grace, before turning slowly to face the armed officers rushing into the vault.
