Chapter 8 - The Ghost in the Machine
Richard raised the pistol, leveling it directly at Evelyn’s chest. “Drop the device, Evelyn.”
“You won't shoot me,” she sneered, her eyes gleaming in the pale server glow. “You’re the honorable Richard Sterling. The pillar of the community. You couldn't even pull the plug on your father when his kidneys failed—I had to sign the papers for you.”
Behind Richard, Claire stepped into the doorway, keeping Liam safely shielded behind the steel doorframe. “He won't shoot you,” Claire called out, her voice cutting through the hum of the cooling fans. “He doesn't need to.”
Evelyn’s eyes darted to Claire, irritation flashing across her face. “Shut up, you pathetic peasant. You were hired to change diapers, not speak.”
“I was hired six months ago,” Claire said, stepping forward just enough for Evelyn to see her face clearly under the fluorescent lights. “By the compliance department of Sterling Global Logistics. Specifically, by the internal forensic oversight committee.”
A dead silence fell over the room. Even Julian turned his head, his brow furrowing in sharp surprise.
“What are you talking about?” Evelyn hissed, her hand trembling slightly against the demagnetizer switch.
“The stair runner wasn't the first thing you sabotaged, Mrs. Sterling,” Claire continued steadily. “Two months ago, the brake lines on Richard’s town car were calibrated to fail under high pressure. Last month, Liam’s pediatric formula had traces of synthetic allergen concentrates that would have mimicked sudden infant death syndrome. You weren't just trying to frame me tonight. You were liquidating every living heir to the Sterling estate before the fiscal year audit.”
Richard stared at Claire, his world fracturing a second time in one night. “Claire... who are you?”
“My name is Claire Vance,” she said softly, keeping her eyes locked on Evelyn. “Marcus Vance was my estranged brother. And I came here to find out why he stopped returning our family’s calls three years ago, the night Julian’s yacht burned.”
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Evelyn’s composure finally snapped. A raw, animalistic screech escaped her throat as she slammed her thumb down on the trigger of the demagnetizer.
A blinding blue spark erupted from the server rack, accompanied by a sharp pop that plunged the entire room into total, suffocating blackness.
