Chapter 6 - The Lazarus Specter
The phone screen on the damp concrete floor remained dark, its final text message glowing like a malevolent ember in the gloom of the cellar.
My breath caught in my throat, a suffocating weight crushing my chest as the visual burned behind my eyelids: Victoria Sterling. The woman who had allegedly died in a fiery plane crash off the Swiss Alps three years ago—the woman who was supposed to be nothing more than a tragic headline and a vault of cold corporate secrets—was currently holding my infant daughter on a secure live feed.
“No,” I whispered, stumbling back against Julian’s chest as he reached down to steady me. “No, that’s impossible. She’s dead. We saw the autopsy reports. The estate probate was finalized two years ago!”
“Autopsies can be faked, Claire, when you have billions of dollars and a global network of forged identities,” Julian said, his voice dangerously low, his eyes fixed on Arthur Vance, who was currently coughing blood against the cellar wall while smiling through split lips.
Arthur spat a glob of crimson onto the dust. “You thought you won everything when Marcus died, didn't you, Julian? You thought Lane Global was yours for the taking. But Victoria was the architect of this entire game from day one. She didn't die in that plane crash. She just traded her first life for a better one—and she’s been waiting for the exact right moment to reclaim her empire.”
Ethan, still half-tangled in the ropes of the wooden chair where Julian had untied him just enough to keep him from choking, stared at the phone in sheer, unadulterated horror.
“Victoria...” Ethan muttered, his voice trembling violently. “My mother... my mother was on that plane.”
“Your mother orchestrated her own funeral, you idiot,” Arthur wheezed, laughing bitterly. “And she used your marriage to Claire, and your subsequent betrayal, to set the legal traps that put three billionaire trust beneficiaries right into her cradle.”
Julian’s jaw tightened into a hard line of absolute fury. He drew his Sig Sauer, cocked the slide with a crisp, lethal clack, and pressed the barrel against Arthur’s forehead.
“Where is she?” Julian demanded, the ice in his voice freezing the air in the room. “Give me the coordinates of the safehouse, Arthur, or I swear to God this cellar will be your permanent address.”
Before Arthur could answer, a piercing, mechanical whine cut through the damp air.
Bzzzz. Bzzzz.
It was Julian’s encrypted satellite phone. He pulled it from his jacket with his left hand, never shifting the gun barrel an inch from Arthur’s skin. He hit speakerphone with a swift swipe of his thumb.
“Cross,” Julian barked.
“Mr. Cross,” Vance’s voice came over the comms unit, breathless and laced with panic. “We have an immediate security breach at the penthouse. Our primary systems were just overridden from a master terminal inside the building. The elevator shafts have been sealed, and... sir, you need to look at the perimeter cameras right now.”
Julian tapped his tablet screen, switching the feed to the penthouse exterior.
May you like
On the tiny display, a fleet of three black tactical vans had just surrounded our building, and heavily armed men in unmarked black tactical gear were storming the lobby doors.
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