78 "The Architecture of Betrayal: How a Frozen Night, a Corporate Conspiracy, and a Father’s Vengeance Unraveled an Empire of Lies"

The screen of my phone flashed rhythmically, the dark digits of the restricted caller ID glowing against the white wood of the nightstand.

Alvin looked down at the device, his hand hovering over the glass. "Don't answer it, Tory. It's a psychological play."

"No," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through my veins. I reached out, picked up the phone, and hit speaker mode before placing it back down. "If they think they can intimidate me from behind a Swiss firewall, they're about to learn who my father raised."

I tapped the screen.

"Victoria," a smooth, cultured voice drifted through the tiny speaker, accompanied by the faint, muffled clink of crystal glassware in the background. "I trust you are recovering comfortably from your brisk evening stroll on the mountain patio."

Julian Vance.

Alvin stepped closer to the phone, his face twisting into a mask of pure fury. "Julian. You arrogant bastard. If you ever speak to my daughter again—"

"Save the paternal theatrics, Alvin," Julian interrupted, his tone remaining effortlessly calm, almost conversational. "You hold the deed to a few concrete towers, and you think you rule the boardrooms. But your son-in-law was smart enough to recognize a sinking empire when he saw one. He traded us a few digital blueprints in exchange for an extraction ticket that is currently flying him out of federal airspace."

My breath caught in my throat. "Diego escaped?"

"Let's call it a tactical relocation," Julian replied smoothly. "He is currently en route to a jurisdiction where American arrest warrants are nothing more than colorful pieces of paper. Which brings us to our current negotiation, Victoria."

"There is no negotiation," I said, leaning toward the phone. "You're holding stolen defense data, and federal marshals are already dismantling your brother Marcus's firm in the city."

"Marcus is an incompetent amateur who got caught by a paper trail," Julian sighed, as if discussing a disappointing business associate. "Unlike Marcus, I deal in leverage. The infrastructure blueprints Diego uploaded to my servers contain motion-trigger kill switches linked directly to municipal grid controllers. If my firm does not receive absolute, unhindered control of the Sterling Corp voting shares by midnight tonight, certain automated substations across the tristate area are going to experience catastrophic failures."

Alvin’s face went pale. "You wouldn't dare."

"Try me, Alvin," Julian whispered, the pleasant facade instantly dropping away, replaced by razor-sharp venom. "You have until midnight. Deliver the shares, or watch your family's legacy burn to the ground."