Chapter 3 - THE UNDERGROUND EMPIRE
The rain fell in sheets over the industrial district of the city, washing the grime into the cracked asphalt. Far away from the glittering lights of the glass arena, Clara collapsed into the corner of an abandoned, unheated warehouse.
She let out a sharp cry of agony as she finally pulled off what remained of her right skate. Her ankle was heavily bruised, swollen to the size of a grapefruit, and the skin was rubbed raw. She shivered violently, her damp wool coat offering no protection against the freezing rain leaking through the warehouse roof.
"You were reckless tonight, Clara."
A deep, gravelly voice echoed from the shadows of the warehouse.
Clara didn't look up. She kept her eyes on her swollen ankle. "I did what I had to do, Julian. Arthur knows I'm alive now. The board of directors knows. He can't hide in the shadows anymore."
From the darkness walked a tall man in his late twenties. He wore a simple black tactical jacket, but his movements were calculated, precise, and dangerous. Julian Vance. Arthur’s estranged younger brother, a former military intelligence officer who had been disowned by the family years ago for asking too many questions about the plane crash that killed Helena.
Julian walked over, dropping a heavy medical kit and a thermos of hot soup next to her. Without a word, he knelt down and began to expertly wrap her damaged ankle with compression bandages.
"You landed a Quadruple Lutz on a rusted blade, Clara," Julian said, his voice a mix of frustration and profound awe. "If that lace had snapped a second earlier in the air, you wouldn't just be dealing with a sprained ankle. You'd be paralyzed. Or dead."
"I needed a hook," Clara said, her teeth chattering as she took a sip of the warm soup. "I needed to force the media's hand. If I just walked into a police station with your evidence, Arthur would have bought the judges and the prosecutors before the paperwork was even filed. But now? The whole world saw me. If I die tomorrow, everyone will know Arthur did it."
Julian pulled out a rugged laptop and opened it. The screen illuminated his sharp features. "Well, your hook worked. The video of your performance has hit fifty million views on TikTok and Facebook in less than three hours. The hashtag #JusticeForHelena is trending worldwide. But Arthur is already moving to counter it."
He tapped a few keys, bringing up a live news broadcast. A polished PR spokesperson for Vance Enterprises was standing outside a hospital, speaking into a cluster of microphones.
"...we are deeply concerned for the mental well-being of the young woman who disrupted the championship tonight," the spokesperson announced smoothly. "Mr. Arthur Vance has identified her as his tragically disturbed niece, Clara, who suffered severe psychological trauma during the tragic accident ten years ago. We believe she is being manipulated by dangerous elements. For her own safety, a legal medical warrant has been issued for her immediate apprehension and placement in a private psychiatric facility..."
Clara slammed her soup container down, her eyes flashing with rage. "He's trying to lock me away! He's using the law to silence me!"
"It gets worse," Julian said heavily, turning the screen to face her. "He's fast-tracking the sale of Vance Shipping and Logistics. He's selling the entire core of your mother's company to a foreign syndicate tomorrow night at a private charity gala. Once those assets are transferred overseas, the money disappears into offshore accounts. Even if you prove who you are, there will be nothing left to reclaim. The company will be hollowed out."
Clara forced herself to stand up, ignoring the agonizing, burning pain shooting up her right leg. She leaned heavily against a metal pillar, her breathing ragged. "When is the gala?"
"Tomorrow night at eight o'clock at the Vance Estate," Julian said, shaking his head. "But look at yourself, Clara! You can't walk, let alone skate. The World Selection Trials are in five days. If you aren't cleared by the athletic board, you can't claim your mother's Olympic legacy spot, and Arthur wins default control over the Vance foundation permanently."
"Then we change the game," Clara said, a cold, calculated look entering her eyes. She looked down at the empty space where her mother's skates used to be. "Arthur thinks I'm a broken little girl playing in the dirt. He thinks he can hunt me down like an animal."
She looked at Julian, her expression turning deadly serious. "You still have your security clearances for the Vance Estate?"
Julian narrowed his eyes. "Yes. But it's suicide, Clara. The place is locked down like a fortress. Arthur has hired private mercenaries since tonight's fiasco."
"Good," Clara whispered, a dangerous smile spreading across her face. "Then they won't expect us to walk right through the front door."
Suddenly, the heavy metal doors of the warehouse shrieked as they were ripped open from the outside.
A blinding red laser dot danced across the concrete floor, instantly locking onto Clara's chest.
"Hands where I can see them!" a voice barked through a megaphone.
Three heavily armed men in black tactical gear, wearing masks with the Vance Enterprises logo stamped on their helmets, breached the entrance. Their weapons were raised, lethal and cold. Behind them stood the head judge from the arena, holding a legal document in his hand, a sinister smirk on his face.
"Found you, little bird," the judge sneered. "Time to go to your new home. Arthur sends his regards."
Julian didn't hesitate. He grabbed the laptop with one hand and drew a silenced pistol from his waistband with the other, firing two rapid shots into the warehouse lights.
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Pop. Pop.
The warehouse plunged into darkness just as gunfire tore through the space, sparks flying off the metal pillars where Clara had been standing a second ago.
