Chapter 8 - The Puppet's Strings
Victoria looked at the phone, then up into Julian’s remorseless eyes. Her hands shook uncontrollably as she wiped the mascara running down her cheeks. ""If I do this... will you let me go? Will you let me take the early morning flight out of the country?""
Julian leaned forward, resting both hands on the table, towering over her like a vengeful shadow. ""Your freedom was forfeited the second you touched Lily. But if you make this call, you might survive long enough to see the inside of a federal penitentiary instead of a pine box. Dial the number.""
Trembling, Victoria reached for the phone. She dialed a long-distance encrypted number from memory. Julian stood right behind her, his hand resting lightly near the holster beneath his jacket.
The line rang four times before a low, gravelly voice answered. ""Is it done?""
It was Gregory. Hearing his brother’s voice after eight years sent a surge of fury through Julian’s veins, but he remained motionless, fixing Victoria with a glare that promised absolute ruin if she faltered.
""It's... it's done, Gregory,"" Victoria managed to say, her voice miraculously steadying under the pure terror of Julian’s gaze. ""The apartment was hit. Julian is at the hospital with the boy, but the girl... she didn't make it. The shock was too much.""
A chilling pause stretched over the line. Then, Gregory let out a long, satisfied exhale. ""A tragic domestic accident. The media will eat it up. The grieving father, broken by his family's curse. Did you get the bearer bonds from Vance's vault?""
""I have them,"" Victoria lied smoothly, glancing at the shattered laptop. ""And the trust keys. But I’m not staying in this city another hour. The police are swarming the downtown district.""
""Pier 42,"" Gregory commanded without hesitation. ""The private freighter sails at four in the morning. Bring the documents. If you are ten minutes late, Victoria, you will find yourself swimming with the tide.""
The call terminated with a click.
Victoria lowered the phone, her shoulders slumping in complete exhaustion. ""I did what you asked. Now let me leave.""
Julian smiled, a cold, humorless curve of his lips. ""Marcus is outside. He will escort you to a secure holding facility. If Gregory suspects anything before four in the morning, Marcus will make sure you take the fall for everything.""
Two armed operatives entered the suite, immediately clamping steel handcuffs onto Victoria’s wrists. As she was dragged out, weeping and begging for mercy, Julian walked to the wide hotel window.
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Down below, the city lights flickered in the rain. Pier 42 was an abandoned industrial dock on the south shore—a perfect place for an execution, or an ambush. Julian picked up his radio.
""Marcus, assemble the strike team. Gregory is waiting for us at the water.""
