Chapter 7 - The Ghost at the Desk
Marcus Vance sat in the high-backed leather chair, looking older, harder, and infinitely more dangerous than the memories I had buried beneath a decade of chemical fog. A thick cigar smoldered in an ashtray beside him, casting a blue haze across his weathered features.
He didn't stand up. He just looked at me with cold, calculating eyes, the same eyes that had once built the most ruthless smuggling syndicate on the Eastern Seaboard.
"Well, Victoria," my father said, his voice deep and raspy. "You look well. Daniel took good care of your complexion, at least."
I gripped the edge of the desk to keep from collapsing, my handcuffed wrists rattling against the wood. "You're dead," I whispered, the words catching in my dry throat. "The police reports... the car on the pier... everyone said you died in the explosion twelve years ago."
Marcus let out a dry, humorless chuckle. "In our line of work, Victoria, dying is a very useful administrative tool. When Daniel offered to marry you and take you off the board, it solved a lot of problems. He swore he would keep you away from the life, away from the federal indictments, and away from my enemies."
He leaned forward, stubbing out his cigar with deliberate slowness. "So imagine my surprise when I found out my dutiful son-in-law wasn't just playing suburban husband—he was sitting on the primary encryption keys to the offshore accounts I left behind."
"He was protecting me!" I shouted, the fury overriding the blinding pain in my skull. "He kept me safe while you and men like Arthur played god with everyone's lives! You faked your death and abandoned your own daughter!"
"I abandoned a liability," Marcus corrected coldly, his voice slicing through the room like a razor. He stood up slowly, towering over the desk. "And right now, that liability is the only thing standing between me and the two billion dollars Daniel locked away in the main vault. You're going to open it, Victoria. Or I'll let Arthur finish what he started on your husband."
Arthur stepped out from the shadows near the door, a sinister smile playing on his lips as he pulled a heavy tactical knife from his belt, letting the overhead light glint off the serrated edge.
"You can't open the vault without the biometric override," I said, lifting my chin with a defiance I didn't know I still possessed. "Daniel configured the retina and voice recognition to his own profile, and he synced it to my neural baseline. Even if you kill me, you can't touch a dime."
Marcus’s eyes narrowed into slits. He walked slowly around the desk, stopping just inches away from me. The resemblance between us was terrifying—the same stubborn jawline, the same unyielding ice in the gaze.
May you like
"Oh, we won't need to kill you to get the baseline, my dear," Marcus whispered, motioning toward two burly guards standing by the doorway. "We just need to make the pain severe enough that your nervous system surrenders the codes automatically. Bring in the doctor."
---
