Chapter 7 - THE VISITATION OF THE WICKEDThe elevator doors slid open with a soft, expensive pneumatic hiss.
The bright, clinical fluorescent light from the elevator spilled out into the dark, damp sub-basement, cutting long, sharp shadows across the concrete floor.
Patricia stepped out first.
She wasn't wearing her emerald green silk gown now. Instead, she wore a sharp, tailored charcoal-grey pantsuit that mirrored the cold architecture of the house above. Her hair was pulled back into the exact same severe ponytail. In her right hand, she carried a sleek aluminum briefcase containing the biometric terminal. In her left, she held a heavy leather riding crop, tapping it rhythmically against her thigh with every step she took.
"Well, Ricardo," she called out, her voice dripping with sadistic amusement as she walked down the stone hallway. "Did you spend the week thinking about my offer? Are we going to sign the final Swiss bank transfers willingly tonight, or do I have to remind you what happens to stubborn old men who refuse to die?"
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Her right foot had caught the thin copper wire strung across the floor just an inch above the puddle.
She looked down, her sharp eyebrows furrowing in sudden confusion. "What is this—"
With a savage flick of my wrist, I threw the master circuit switch behind the concrete pillar.
BZZZZT!
A blinding flash of electric blue light tore through the hallway. High-voltage current surged through the standing water and copper wire, violently shocking Patricia’s nervous system.
She let out a piercing, ungodly scream as her entire body seized. The aluminum briefcase flew from her hand, crashing hard against the concrete floor and scattering loose papers everywhere. The leather riding crop slipped from her numb fingers, clattering into the sludge.
Before she could hit the ground, I stepped out from the shadows like an executioner emerging from the fog.
I grabbed her by the lapels of her expensive designer suit, hauling her upright before she could collapse into the filth, and slammed her back against the cold, damp concrete wall.
The impact knocked the remaining wind out of her lungs. Her eyes blew wide open, staring up at me with absolute, unadulterated terror.
For a second, she didn't recognize me through the shadows. Then, the fluorescent light caught the hard, merciless angles of my face.
Color drained completely from her cheeks, leaving her face the color of skim milk. Her lips trembled violently.
"J-Julian...?" she choked out, her voice barely a whisper. "No... no, that's impossible... the security reports said you were still at the halfway house across town... how did you..."
"Did you really think a concrete cell could hold me, Patricia?" I whispered, my face inches from hers, my voice so cold it felt like shards of glass grinding together. "Did you really think you could steal my father, steal my company, and leave me to rot without paying the bill?"
Patricia’s arrogance vanished entirely, replaced by a pathetic, sniveling survival instinct. She tried to force a trembling, desperate smile to her lips, batting her eyelashes in a sickening display of false vulnerability.
"Julian... wait... please, let's talk," she stammered, her hands clawing frantically at my wrists. "It was a misunderstanding! It was your father's idea to protect the assets from the tax auditors! We can share everything! The company, the accounts, the house—it can all be yours! Just... just let me go!"
Behind the iron bars of the cell, my father let out a weak, raspy cough.
"Don't listen to her, Julian," Ricardo whispered, gripping the bars. "She... she murdered your mother's legacy. She planned the embezzlement from the very beginning."
I looked back down at Patricia. The mask of sophistication was completely gone, leaving only a desperate, cornered animal.
I didn't strike her. I didn't have to.
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I reached down, picked up the aluminum briefcase from the floor, and popped the security latches. Inside, the digital biometric terminal was blinking green, connected via satellite link to the main corporate servers upstairs.
"You wanted my father's signature, Patricia?" I asked softly, a grim smile touching my lips. "Let's see whose signature the system accepts now."
