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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands. / Chapter 14 / 20

Chapter 14 - The Interrogation of the Scorpion

Julian was slammed hard against the glass wall, his face pressed flat against the cold surface, a tactical boot pinning his shoulder. The predatory veneer was completely gone, replaced by frantic, animalistic panic.

"You can't do this!" Julian choked out, spitting blood from a split lip. "I have connections in Geneva! Interpol will—"

"Interpol won't find you, Julian," Arthur whispered, standing up slowly and walking over. He pulled the titanium flash drive from his pocket, holding it inches from Julian’s wide, terrified eyes. "Because legally, according to the flight logs and international transit manifests, you never entered the United States today. You’re a ghost."

"What do you want?" Julian whimpered, his knees shaking.

"I want every name, every shell corporation, and every European associate linked to Elena’s syndicate," Arthur said, his voice terrifyingly calm. "You’re going to write down every single digital footprint, or I’ll hand you over to the federal agents waiting in the basement—the ones who specialize in transnational organized crime black sites."

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The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang of the Boston Harbor. It hit Dileia like a physical blow, cutting right through the thin polyester of her service uniform. She shivered, though she refused to wrap her arms around herself. Doing so would look like weakness, and tonight, weakness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend.

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

The midday heat of the Vulkoff estate did nothing to cool the chill that had settled into Alina’s chest. For two years, she had been a ghost in the machine—silent, compliant, invisible. But the casual strength of Damon Vulkoff’s grip on her wrist had broken the spell. That afternoon, scrubbing the heavy oak tables in the secondary pantry, her mind kept looping back to his office. He hadn't just saved his papers; he had felt her pulse. She knew he had. His fingers had lingered over her radial artery just long enough to register the frantic, terrified spike of her heartbeat.

The midday heat of the Vulkoff estate did nothing to cool the chill that...

Trembling violently, Julian nodded frantically. "I’ll give you everything! Just don't let them take me!"

Arthur motioned to Vance, who hauled the broken corporate raider away toward the private elevator. The trap had snapped shut once again, crushing the second head of the snake before it could even strike.

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