The cold rain continued to lash against the glass facade of the Grand Crest Hotel, but inside, the atmosphere had frozen completely.

The news shattered the internet like a digital megaton bomb.

BREAKING NEWS: MARCUS STERLING FOUND DEAD IN CELL. HEIRESS ISABELLA VANCE ARRESTED FOR MURDER.

Inside the bleak, fluorescent-lit interrogation room of the federal building, Isabella sat with her hands handcuffed to the metal table. Her expensive designer blazer was gone, replaced by an oversized grey jumpsuit. Yet, her posture remained erect, her eyes burning with sharp intelligence.

Across from her sat Agent Raymond Burke, throwing a manila folder onto the table.

"The toxicology report came back half an hour ago," Burke said, pulling out a set of crime scene photos showing Marcus lifeless on his cell cot. "Potassium cyanide. Injected into his water bottle."

"And what does that have to do with me, Agent Burke?" Isabella asked coolly.

"Visitors' log," Burke replied, tapping a piece of paper. "You were the last person to visit Marcus before he was locked down for the night. Ten minutes after you left his cell block, he collapsed."

"I visited him to offer him a plea bargain," Isabella stated, staring directly into Burke’s eyes. "I offered to clear his personal debts if he turned over the master keys to the offshore accounts he used to attack my company. Why would I kill the only man who could tell me who his master was?"

Burke leaned in close. "Or maybe he refused your deal. Maybe he threatened to reveal something that would destroy your family, so you used your vast wealth to buy off a guard and slip cyanide into his cell."

"If I wanted Marcus dead, Agent Burke," Isabella whispered with lethal calm, "I wouldn't have used poison in a federal facility. I would have bought the prison and let him rot in solitude for thirty years. Think logically."

The interrogation room door opened. Victoria Cross stepped in, holding a leather briefcase.

"Agent Burke, step outside," Victoria commanded in her sharp legal tone. "My client is exercising her right to remain silent."

Burke sneered, grabbing his folder. "She’s facing life without parole, Ms. Cross. Build a good defense."

As Burke left, closing the heavy door behind him, Victoria sat down across from Isabella. The tension between the two women was palpable.

"You brought my bail paperwork?" Isabella asked softly.

"The judge denied bail," Victoria said, her voice dropping. "The prosecutor argued you are an extreme flight risk with private jets at your disposal. You’re staying here until the preliminary hearing, Isabella."

Isabella leaned across the table, the steel handcuffs clinking against the metal. "In the boardroom, right before the FBI walked in, you said Marcus was blackmailing you with a 'secret.' What secret, Victoria?"

Victoria looked around nervously, ensuring the recording cameras were disabled—a trick she knew how to arrange.

"Twenty-five years ago," Victoria whispered, her hands trembling, "before you were born, your father didn't build Vance Global through stock trades. He took out a massive loan from the Syndicate—the Solokov European syndicate. When he couldn't pay it back, he didn't give them cash. He gave them a twenty percent silent stake in the company."

Isabella’s breath caught in her throat. "What?"

"The Vance empire isn't entirely yours," Victoria revealed, tears glistening in her eyes. "Marcus found the original physical contract in your mother's estate vault. He threatened to go public with it, which would have triggered an immediate federal asset seizure of everything your family owns. I paid him the ten million to buy the documents back! I was trying to save your father's legacy!"

"And who gave Marcus the vault code to find that contract?" Isabella demanded, her mind racing. "It wasn't you, was it?"

Victoria shook her head frantically. "No! I swear on my life, Isabella! Someone else gave Marcus the key. Marcus was just a pawn. Someone inside your family wants the Solokov Syndicate to take over Vance Global!"

Suddenly, the red emergency alarm inside the detention facility began to blare.

WAAANNNG! WAAANNNG!

The lights flickered and died, plunging the interrogation room into pitch darkness. Red backup emergency lights swept across the room.

The heavy steel door of the interrogation room suddenly clicked open.

A tall figure wearing a tactical mask and black suit stepped into the room, holding a suppressed pistol. Without hesitation, the intruder raised the weapon and fired twice.

THWIP. THWIP.

Victoria Cross gasped, clutching her chest as blood bloomed across her white blouse. She collapsed onto the table, lifeless.