Chapter 7 - THE ULTIMATUMThe heavy oak door of the study swung open with a slow, dramatic creak.
Serena didn’t turn around immediately. She stood by the floor-to-ceiling bay windows, staring out at the rain-slicked gardens where the flashing red and blue lights of approaching police cruisers were finally beginning to illuminate the distant perimeter gates.
"You took your time, Victor," Serena said smoothly, though her fingers were digging into the velvet window curtain so hard the fabric strained. "I see you survived the basement. I suppose your little security goon and the doctor were useful for once."
"They were," Victor said, walking steadily toward the desk. He didn't pull a weapon this time. He didn't need to. He placed a single sheet of paper and a fountain pen directly in the center of the mahogany blotter.
"What is this?" Serena asked, finally turning around, her eyes narrowing suspiciously.
"A full confession," Victor replied flatly. "Detailing your embezzlement from the Blackwood Foundation, your conspiracy to commit corporate espionage, and your direct involvement in the tampering of Elena’s vehicle ten years ago."
Serena let out a sharp, hysterical laugh. "You're delusional! You think I’ll sign that? Even if you lock me in a cage, my lawyers will tear this piece of garbage apart in five minutes before a federal judge!"
"Your lawyers won't get the chance," Victor said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy whisper. He stepped closer, leaning over the edge of the desk until his face was inches from hers. "Because the federal task force currently pulling up our driveway isn't here to arrest you for embezzlement, Serena. They’re here on a federal warrant for international human trafficking and state-level murder conspiracy—charges backed by the digital ledgers your Russian friends were carrying on their encrypted hard drives."
Serena’s aristocratic facade finally, completely shattered. The color drained from her face so fast she looked like a marble statue. Her knees buckled slightly, and she caught herself against the edge of the desk.
"You... you decrypted their drives?" she whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. "That’s impossible... those were military-grade encryptions..."
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"Marco has friends from his old days in intelligence," Victor said coldly. "And it turns out, mercenaries are remarkably willing to trade their employers' secrets for a guaranteed passport out of the country—or in this case, a clean burial."
Victor tapped the nib of the fountain pen against the paper. "Sign it, Serena. It’s your only remaining ticket to a federal penitentiary instead of a pine box at the bottom of Lake Michigan."
