THE PRICE OF INHERITANCE

Midnight had descended over the city, turning the rain-slicked streets into a maze of neon reflections. Clara and Arthur stepped out of the service elevator into the subterranean level of the Vance Corporation headquarters. The lighting down here was harsh and industrial, casting long, eerie shadows across the concrete corridors. The heavy security doors leading to the subterranean holding rooms and the central corporate vault hummed with high-voltage electricity.

A lone security guard nodded respectfully as they approached the vault’s massive biometric scanner. Clara pressed her palm against the glass plate, and the green laser swept across her skin with an audible chirp. The heavy steel door, three feet thick and reinforced with titanium alloy, slowly swung open with a deep, hydraulic sigh.

Inside, the vault was climate-controlled, lined with rows of safety deposit boxes and archival shelving holding decades of corporate history. Arthur walked straight to the back corner, pulling out a heavy metal lockbox marked with the year 2012. He set it down on a mahogany consultation table in the center of the room and popped the brass latches with a small key he wore around his neck.

As they sorted through the yellowed legal parchments and notarized affidavits, the heavy security door at the end of the corridor suddenly creaked open. Footsteps—multiple pairs of hard-soled shoes—echoed sharply against the concrete floor.

Clara froze, her hand hovering over a sheaf of documents. She looked toward the entrance of the vault just as a tall figure stepped into the harsh fluorescent light. It wasn't a security guard. It was Viktor Vance, flanked by two large, menacing men in dark suits who bore an unsettling resemblance to the bodyguards who had pinned Julian to the pavement earlier that day.