Chapter 8 - The Weight of Gold
Gregory Ross bolted for the front double doors, his briefcase clutched against his chest like a shield. But when he slammed his palms against the heavy wrought-iron handles, the electronic magnetic locks refused to disengage.
"What is the meaning of this?!" Ross screamed, spinning around.
Walter stood at the midpoint of the staircase, holding a master bypass keycard, his face unreadable. "You were always too panicky, Gregory. When one eliminates a billionaire, one does not leave the premises until the ashes are cold."
"You lunatic! Open the doors!" Ross shrieked. "He took down two armed operators! He's not a spoiled heir, he’s an animal from the gutter!"
"He is a Vance," Walter said with quiet contempt. "And like all Vances, he must be managed."
Julian stepped into the grand foyer from the service entrance. He carried no weapon, only his bare hands and the encrypted drive held openly between two fingers. Beside him walked Clara, her head bandaged, her eyes blazing with fierce defiance.
"It's over, Ross," Julian said, his voice ringing with calm authority. "The drive isn't the only copy. Ten minutes ago, while your goons were hunting shadows in the basement, Clara used the emergency bypass terminal in the scullery to transmit the complete pollution manifests to forty independent news agencies and the Department of Justice."
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Ross’s knees buckled. His briefcase clattered against the marble, spilling confidential merger agreements across the floor. "You... you signed your own death warrant. Vance Industries stock will hit zero by noon. You're broke, Julian! You're completely penniless!"
"I was born with nothing, Ross," Julian replied, walking steadily toward the stairs. "I know how to survive without gold. But you never will."
