Chapter 8 - THE CHAIRMAN'S TRAPSir Reginald Vance stepped forward, leaning heavily on an expensive ebony cane, a cold, predatory smile plastered across his wrinkled face.
"Well, well, well," Reginald chuckled, his British accent echoing off the marble vault walls. "Mr. Ryker Steel. I must admit, flying all the way to Zurich to steal family heirlooms is quite the dramatic gesture."
I didn't flinch. I kept my hand resting calmly on the edge of the metal examination table, right beside the open box containing the documents. "You're trespassing on property that legally belongs to your deceased nephew's children, Reginald."
"Children who are about to suffer a tragic, unfortunate accident abroad," Reginald sneered, gesturing to the heavily armed police officers flanking him. "Switzerland is a quiet country, Mr. Steel. People slip on ice every day. Accidents happen in high-security vaults. And as for those two brats waiting outside... well, orphans tend to wander off."
My blood boiled, but my face remained an impassive mask of ice. "You killed David. You planted Vanessa to steal the keys. And now you think you can just murder two five-year-old kids and walk away?"
"I don't think, Mr. Steel—I know," Reginald smiled viciously. "Officers, arrest them for attempted grand theft and corporate espionage. Resist, and eliminate them."
The police officers raised their weapons, stepping forward.
"Now, Nikolai," I whispered softly.
Before the officers could pull their triggers, Nikolai slammed his fist down onto the biometric tracking device attached to his tactical briefcase.
BEEP.
A high-frequency digital signal blasted through the underground vault, instantly overriding the bank's local security grid and transmitting an encrypted data packet straight to Interpol, the Swiss Federal Prosecutor’s office, and every major news network in Europe.
"What is that?!" Reginald screeched, his smug composure instantly shattering. "Stop them! Destroy that briefcase!"
"Too late, old man," Nikolai smirked, pulling out a tactical flashbang grenade from his coat pocket, pulling the pin, and tossing it across the floor.
FLASH! BANG!
A blinding white light and a deafening shockwave reverberated through the confined vault, sending the corrupt police officers stumbling backward, shielding their eyes in absolute disorientation.
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"Move!" I roared, grabbing the leather box containing the original deeds and the hard drive.
We bolted past the blinded officers, sprinting up the spiral staircase and bursting out into the main bank lobby just as sirens began wailing outside—not police sirens coming for us, but a massive fleet of Interpol tactical vans surrounding the building.
