Chapter 12 - The Ghost of the Cell Block
The holographic transmission flickered as Marcus pulled up the surveillance footage from the federal maximum-security facility three states away. The timestamp showed 02:14 AM—just forty minutes prior.
On the grainy security feed, the prison’s central command center was completely dark. A figure in tactical gear moved through the control room like a ghost, disabling the security grids with an override code that only a high-level executive or a founding partner of Vance Global would possess.
""That's impossible,"" Alexander muttered, staring at the screen. ""Only three people in the world have that master override code: me, Marcus, and..."" He paused, his blood running cold as the horrifying realization hit him.
""Julian Vance,"" Marcus finished the sentence, his voice heavy with grief and anger. ""Our estranged uncle. The man who supposedly retired to Switzerland ten years ago.""
Clara stood up from her chair, dropping her blueprints as fear gripped her chest once again. ""Your uncle? But why would he help Derek?""
""Because Richard Sterling was just a pawn,"" Alexander said, his fists clenching so hard his knuckles turned white. ""Julian was the original architect of the corporate coup. When our father died, Julian believed the empire belonged to him. He’s been using Derek as a blunt instrument to dismantle Vance Global from the inside out, and now that Derek's cover is blown, Julian is cutting loose ends—starting with us.""
The mansion's security alarm suddenly blared to life, a deafening klaxon that shattered the quiet of the study. Red emergency lights began to pulse along the hallways, casting an eerie, bloody glow across the walls.
""Perimeter breach!"" an automated voice echoed through the smart-home speakers. ""Sector Four compromised. Multiple thermal signatures detected.""
Alexander didn't hesitate. He drew his sidearm from the hidden desk compartment, checking the magazine with practiced speed before handing a secondary compact pistol to Clara.
""Alexander, I don't know how to shoot,"" Clara said, her voice shaking as she stared at the weapon.
""You don't need to be an expert,"" Alexander said, looking straight into her eyes with absolute conviction. ""Just point and pull. But you won't have to use it, because I am standing right here.""
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Before they could reach the secure panic elevator, the heavy oak doors of the study blew inward in a cloud of splintered wood and acrid smoke.
Standing in the smoking doorway was not a masked mercenary, but an elderly man in an immaculate gray suit, holding a silencer-fitted pistol with chilling composure. Behind him stood Derek Loss, grinning like a madman with a jagged hunting knife in his hand.
