Chapter 8 - The Counterstrike
Marcus Sterling laughed, though the sound was brittle, strained around the edges. "A nineteen-year-old girl thinks she can operate the machinery of global capital? That flash drive is worthless! The federal indictment against Arthur Vance overrides all family proxies. Your father is a traitor, and his assets are frozen under state jurisdiction!"
"My father's personal assets may be frozen," Clara said, leaning across the table until she was inches from Marcus’s face. "Mine are not."
She brought up the master projection screen behind her. Lines of code cascaded downward, revealing a labyrinth of private offshore trust funds, offshore accounts, and subsidiary holdings registered under an entity titled: A.C.V. Foundations.
"For eighteen years, while I lived as an ordinary art student, my father didn't just hide me," Clara whispered, a dangerous smile touching her lips. "He quietly transferred fifty-one percent of Vance Global’s underlying patents, shipping fleets, and sovereign debt portfolios into my name. Today, I do not represent Arthur Vance."
She pressed a button on the terminal.
"I represent the creditor holding nine billion dollars of Sterling Industrial debt."
The color drained instantly from Marcus’s face. His hands began to tremble violently. "What... what did you do?"
"I just called the margin loans," Clara said, her voice chilling the room to sub-zero temperatures. "Your banks have already initiated immediate repossession of Sterling Tower, your manufacturing yards in Detroit, and your private island in the Bahamas. By the time the stock bell rings at 09:30, your family name will be bankrupt."
Marcus lunged across the table, his fingers clawing toward Clara’s throat in a frenzy of desperation. "You little whore! I’ll kill you!"
A single shot rang out.
The bullet shattered the water pitcher right beside Marcus’s hand, spraying shards of crystal and ice water across his tailored suit.
At the back of the room, standing tall with a smoking service weapon, was Federal Agent David Ross, flanked by a squad of United States Marshals.
"Step away from the young lady, Mr. Sterling," Agent Ross ordered sternly. "You are under arrest for treason, corporate extortion, and the attempted kidnapping of Clara Vance."
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Marcus slowly turned his head toward the door. Behind Agent Ross, a tall, imposing figure stepped forward, his suit impeccably pressed, free of handcuffs.
Arthur Vance smiled coldly at his ruined rival. "Did you really think the Director of the FBI was on your payroll, Marcus?"
