Chapter 3 - The Ghost of Macau
Sector Nine was never mentioned in the public records. It was the phantom division her father, Arthur Vance, had constructed forty years ago—an underground network of logistics, shadow shipping routes, and sovereign debt holdings that financed his rise to power.
Marcus ushered Maya into an armored SUV waiting outside the villa's gated perimeter, leaving the tactical squad to detain Daniel and Eleanor until the formal federal warrants arrived.
Inside the quiet vehicle, Maya pressed an ice pack against her stinging cheek, staring at the encrypted tablet Marcus handed her. The surveillance footage from the Macau compound was already looping on the screen.
The timestamp read 07:14 AM. A solitary figure dressed in a bespoke charcoal suit had bypassed three biometric checkpoints using a duplicate iris scan—an exact mathematical match to Arthur Vance’s own retinal pattern.
""That's impossible,"" Maya whispered, her fingers shaking slightly against the glass. ""My father died three weeks ago. I watched his heart monitor go flat.""
""Retinal data can be cloned if someone possesses high-resolution scans taken before burial,"" Marcus replied, adjusting his wire-rimmed glasses. ""Or if Arthur was not the only one who carried that genotype.""
Maya snapped her head up. ""What are you talking about?""
""Arthur was an only child,"" Marcus murmured. ""Or at least, that is what the official biography claims. But forty years ago, before Vanguard went public, there was a partner. A man named Julian Vance.""
""A twin?""
""A brother erased from existence after a botched corporate coup in Hong Kong,"" Marcus explained grimly. ""Arthur swore Julian died in a fire at the harbor. But the man in Macau moved with Julian’s distinct gait. And he didn't just take the Sector Nine charter.""
""What else did he take?""
""He took the killswitch for Vanguard's global financial clearinghouse,"" Marcus said softly. ""In less than forty-eight hours, every stock exchange carrying Vanguard equity will face total systemic freeze unless Julian’s identity is recognized as the sole proprietor.""
Maya looked down at the tablet. The screen flickered. The looping video feed suddenly corrupted into static.
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A live audio transmission forced its way through the encrypted channel, crackling over the vehicle’s high-fidelity speakers. A voice, smooth as velvet and chillingly familiar, spoke directly to her.
""Good morning, little niece. Your father stole my empire. Let's see if you have his stomach for blood.""
