Chapter 11 - The Federal Override
Color drained from Clara’s face so fast it looked like a physical blow. She lunged forward, grabbing the top of the SUV’s window frame with both hands, her eyes wide with sudden, unadulterated panic.
“What did you just say?” Clara hissed, her voice losing all its cold composure. “What file did you upload, you little brat?”
Leo didn't flinch. He calmly tapped his black smartphone screen, which was glowing brightly in the dark interior of the back seat. “The one containing all your wire transfers from the offshore accounts, the forged medical reports on Grandpa, and the corporate emails detailing the hostile takeover of Vance Industries.”
The tactical operatives behind Clara instantly stiffened, their radios crackling to life with a burst of frantic, panicked chatter. One of the masked guards raised his wrist communicator, listening intently to the encrypted voice barking instructions through his earpiece.
“Sir, we have a breach at the main server hub,” the guard reported, his voice tight with alarm. “Federal marshals have just executed an automated subpoena on our primary database. All encrypted files have been flagged.”
Clara spun around, glaring at the guard. “Cut the servers! Jam the network!”
“It’s too late, ma’am,” the guard replied flatly, lowering his weapon a fraction of an inch as the distant wail of multiple police sirens began to echo through the misty valley. “The archive is already mirrored on federal servers in Washington.”
Julian let out a ragged breath, the crushing weight on his chest suddenly lifting just enough for him to draw a full breath of air. He looked at Clara, whose face was twisted into a mask of pure, unadulterated rage. Her entire multi-million-dollar conspiracy had just been dismantled by a seven-year-old boy with a smartphone.
“It’s over, Clara,” Julian said, his voice steady, cold, and final. “The wedding is canceled.”
Before Clara could scream an order to her men, Marcus slammed his foot down hard on the accelerator. The SUV surged forward, smashing through the remaining wooden slats of the boathouse doors and throwing splintered debris everywhere as it rocketed out onto the gravel access road.
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Bullets pinged harmlessly off the reinforced rear panels of the vehicle as they tore up the slope toward the main gates, where a convoy of flashing red-and-blue police cruisers was already streaming onto the estate grounds.
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