Chapter 8 - The Geneva ConnectionWithin two hours, Damian and Clara were aboard a private Gulfstream jet slicing through the dark Atlantic skies toward Geneva, Switzerland.
The plush leather cabin of the jet was dead silent except for the hum of the engines. Clara sat across from Damian, her laptop open, displaying a complex web of shell companies routed through Swiss banking accounts.
"The data ping wasn't just a random hack," Clara explained, her fingers flying across the keys as she pointed to a glowing flowchart on her screen. "It was a decryption key. Someone in Geneva is trying to unlock the secondary encrypted files hidden inside the memory card you saved from the wedding night."
Damian poured two glasses of scotch, handing one to Clara. Her fingers brushed his, sending a familiar spark through her skin. He took a sip of his drink, his eyes fixed on the screen.
"Who?" Damian asked.
"The Sterling family didn't act alone," Clara said, pulling up a new file. "Julian and Vanessa were just pawns. Their father’s main creditor wasn't a bank in New York. It was a holding corporation based right here in Geneva—owned by Viktor Vance."
Damian’s expression darkened instantly. The name hung in the cabin like a death sentence. Viktor Vance was an old-world European arms dealer and financial fixer who had been waging a silent shadow war against the Moretti syndicate for over a decade.
"Vance," Damian snarled softly. "That arrogant bastard thinks he can reach across the Atlantic and dismantle my legitimate holdings while hiding behind Swiss banking laws."
"He doesn't just want your shipping lines, Damian," Clara said, looking up with fierce determination in her eyes. "He wants your entire empire. He’s using the memory card data to prove to the European commission that Moretti Enterprises acquired its international port rights through illicit leverage."
Damian stared at her—at the brilliant, fearless woman sitting across from him, who had gone from cleaning his estate to standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him in a global corporate war.
"You realize," Damian said slowly, "once we touch down in Geneva, this isn't just business anymore. Vance plays dirty. People who cross him tend to disappear."
Clara took a steady sip of her scotch, setting the glass down with a crisp, decisive click.
"Mr. Moretti," she said, a confident smile playing on her lips, "did you really think a woman who survived being dumped in white paint by a psychotic socialite was going to be afraid of a Swiss arms dealer?"
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A genuine, rare smile broke across Damian’s face. He reached across the small table, taking her hand in his. Her fingers fit perfectly inside his palm.
"No," Damian whispered, his eyes locked onto hers. "I didn't think that at all."
