Chapter 8 - THE TABLE TURNSI grabbed Patricia by the back of her expensive silk blouse and shoved her violently forward, pressing her face right against the glass lens of the biometric terminal resting on the floor.
"Scan retinal profile," I commanded the device, my voice firm and clear.
The terminal emitted a sharp, high-pitched beep as a brilliant red laser swept across Patricia’s wide, terrified eyes.
ACCESS DENIED. INVALID USER PROFILE.
"No! Override! Override!" Patricia shrieked, thrashing against my grip like a fish out of water. "Admin code Alpha-Nine-Delta! Override!"
"Admin code accepted," a cool, synthetic automated voice echoed from the terminal speaker. Welcome back, CEO Ricardo Mendoza.
Patricia froze. Her eyes bulged out of her head.
"W-What...?" she stammered, turning her head as far as my grip would allow. "That's impossible! I changed the master administrator keys six months ago! How is your father's profile still the primary override?!"
I leaned down, my lips brushing against her ear.
"Because my father built Mendoza Enterprises brick by brick with his own two hands, Patricia," I whispered darkly. "He built the core security architecture himself back in 1995. You can steal signatures on paper, you can bribe corrupt judges, and you can lock a sick old man in a basement... but you can't rewrite the DNA of the man who created the foundation."
I tapped the screen of the terminal, selecting the master asset-transfer menu.
With a few swift, practiced keystrokes—using my father's authorized vocal command string that I had memorized as a child watching him work in his study—I initiated the total, irrevocable asset repatriation protocol.
Transferring all global holdings, subsidiary accounts, and real estate deeds... Target account: Julian Mendoza. Status: Processing... 25%... 50%... 75%... COMPLETE.
The small screen flashed a brilliant, triumphant green.
TRANSACTION SUCCESSFUL. ALL ASSETS RETURNED TO PRIMARY HEIR.
Patricia let out a shriek that sounded like a dying animal. Her legs gave out completely, and she collapsed into the filthy puddle on the concrete floor, clawing uselessly at the wet sludge with her manicured fingernails.
"No... no, no, no! You can't do that! That's mine! I earned it! I spent three years planning this!" she sobbed hysterically, rocking back and forth in the dirt, her expensive designer suit ruined forever.
I didn't even look down at her. I turned away, ignoring her pathetic weeping, and walked straight over to the electrical box on the wall.
I pulled out the heavy industrial wire cutters from my duffel bag and sliced clean through the heavy steel padlock hasp of my father’s cell door.
May you like
Clang.
The iron door swung wide open.
