Chapter 7 - The Interrogation of Julian VanceBack upstairs in the mezzanine office—now silent save for the hum of the server racks and the dripping of water from the shattered storefront window—Julian Vance sat tied to the radiator, watching the heavy oak door swing open.
Gideon walked in alone. He didn't look like a philanthropist or a gentle bookstore owner anymore. The tailored wool coat was gone, his sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing lean, corded forearms, and his expression was carved out of cold, hard granite.
"Where is the master decryption console, Julian?" Gideon asked quietly. He didn't raise his voice. He didn't need to.
Julian spat a drop of blood onto the hardwood floor and grinned. "You're too late, Gideon. The handshake protocol was initiated the moment those two little girls crossed the threshold of your precious little boutique. The forty million is currently migrating through twelve layer-two cryptographic mixers across Zurich and the Caymans."
Gideon walked over to the desk, picked up his gold-plated fountain pen, and slid it into his shirt pocket with deliberate slowness. Then he pulled out his phone, unlocked it, and dropped it onto the glass table directly in front of Julian’s face.
The screen displayed an active, high-priority federal task force dashboard. Flashing red text across the top read: ASSET SEIZURE PROTOCOL ENGAGED - TRACE COMPLETE.
Julian’s grin faltered. His eyes darted to the screen. "That's... that's a dummy ping. You don't have the encryption sequence. You need both girls' biometric authorization simultaneously at a verified terminal—"
"I don't need the sequence, Julian," Gideon interrupted, his voice dropping into a low, lethal hum. "Because while you were downstairs waiting for your tactical buddies to batter down my door, Sienna wasn't running from the steam tunnels. She was sitting right here, rerouting the store's primary biometric scanner through the federal treasury's quantum firewall."
Julian’s face went completely grey. "You... you didn't connect the wallet."
"I didn't," Gideon agreed. "Sienna did. And the moment your associates fired their first shots into my shop, the federal task force logged every single IP address, encrypted comms channel, and offshore routing node your syndicate used to coordinate this little operation."
A heavy, sickening thump echoed from the stairs outside the office door.
Heavy boots. Three sets. Professional, disciplined, tactical.
The door pushed open, and Special Agent Miller of the Federal Bureau of Investigation’s Financial Crimes Division stepped into the room, flanked by two armed federal agents in full tactical gear. Agent Miller looked down at Julian Vance, handcuffed to the radiator, and then over at Gideon.
May you like
"Mr. Hail," Agent Miller said, nodding respectfully. "Appreciate you keeping the package warm for us."
"They aren't a package, Miller," Gideon said coldly, walking toward the door without looking back at Julian. "They're children. And they're staying with me."
