Chapter 8 - The Child Who Remembered
The silence that followed the radio transmission was heavier than the winter frost.
Marcus lunged for the radio, his face twisted in disbelief. ""What do you mean 'wiping'? That database is protected by triple-layer quantum encryption! You can't erase a legal identity without the master key card held by the Chief Executive!""
""Sir, the authorization came from inside the central server room in Manhattan,"" the frantic voice replied through static. ""The user bypassed the physical firewalls using the Patriarch’s original biometric key. According to the state network, Ethan Vance and Lily Vance do not legally exist as of three minutes ago!""
Victoria, pinned under the tactical officer's boot, let out a wet, hysterical chuckle from the mud. ""You thought... you thought I was the mastermind, Ethan?"" she coughed, her lips bloody. ""I was just the distraction to keep you pinned at the estate! The real owner of the Vance empire is already sitting in your high chair in New York.""
Ethan stood tall, ignoring the searing burn in his left shoulder. His mind raced through the inner circle of the family conglomerate. Only three people had ever possessed the Patriarch’s original biometric key: his late father, his late brother... and the Chief Legal Counsel who drafted their family charter.
""Arthur Sterling,"" Ethan muttered, his voice deathly cold.
Marcus paled. ""Sterling? He’s been the family lawyer for forty years! He attended your brother’s funeral; he wept beside the casket!""
""He wept because he realized my brother left Lily alive,"" Ethan said, pieces of the conspiracy slotting together with terrifying clarity. ""Sterling didn't want the estate split among squabbling siblings. He wanted to declare the entire bloodline extinct under the Vance Trust Act of 1994, triggering the reversion clause that passes all conglomerate assets directly to the managing law firm.""
Lily suddenly tugged at Ethan’s trousers. She was staring past the garden gates toward the long, winding driveway leading up the mountain.
""Uncle Ethan,"" she whispered, pointing an innocent finger toward the dense pine woods bordering the estate. ""The gray car that followed Mommy and me to the shelter... it's sitting by the lake gate.""
Ethan snapped his head in that direction. Through the bare birch branches, nearly two hundred yards away, the faint, glinting reflection of two headlight covers sat hidden beneath camouflage netting.
A high-frequency electronic whine began echoing from the radio on Marcus’s chest.
Warning. Remote frequency detonation detected within perimeter.
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""Ethan, move!"" Marcus roared.
The stone foundation beneath their feet trembled. An underground shockwave rippled through the garden as the entire east wing of the manor—the private wing housing the legal archives and safe rooms—erupted into a catastrophic pillar of orange fire and shattering limestone.
