Chapter 2 - THE GHOST OF THE EAST WING"Welcome home, brother-in-law."
The voice crackled through the static-laced intercom, dry, raspy, and dripping with malicious amusement.
Damian didn't flinch. He didn't drop his hands to his holster. Instead, he took two measured steps forward into the dim perimeter light of the warehouse, his eyes scanning the catwalks high above.
"Julian," Damian said, his tone flat, devoid of surprise. "The coroner in Zurich signed your death certificate seven years ago. I personally paid for the mahogany box."
A low, mocking chuckle reverberated through the steel pillars. From the shadows of the third-tier gantry, a tall figure stepped into the dim amber light. Julian Vance—or rather, Julian Reyes, the brilliant rogue chemist and disgraced corporate raider who had seduced Elena away from the Vance dynasty—looked older, his silver-streaked hair pulled back, a jagged scar cutting across his left cheekbone.
"Your money is good, Damian, I’ll give you that," Julian called down, resting his hands casually on the rusted railing. "Too bad the body in that box belonged to a smuggler who made the mistake of crossing my path. People love a tragic funeral. It keeps the auditors away while you quietly rebuild your fortune."
In the SUV behind them, the back door clicked open. Sophie peered out, her soft brown eyes wide with confusion as she heard the man's voice. Bear let out a low, ominous growl, the fur along his spine standing rigid despite the mud.
"Where is she?" Damian demanded, cutting straight through the theatrics. "Where is Elena?"
Julian’s smile vanished. His face hardened into something sharp and predatory. "You think I have her locked in a dungeon? You arrogant bastard. Elena walked away from you, from our father, from every drop of blood-soaked money this family owns. She raised that girl in the mud because she knew that the moment you found out about your niece, you’d turn her into a weapon or a bargaining chip."
"She’s an 8-year-old child," Damian snarled, his restraint finally fracturing. "You left her to starve in an industrial sinkhole with a dying dog!"
"I didn't leave her anywhere," Julian shouted back, his voice echoing off the corrugated iron walls. "Someone took her from our safehouse in Prague three days ago. Someone who wanted to draw you out into the open. Look behind you, Damian."
Damian spun around.
In the mouth of the alley, the rain seemed to freeze in mid-air. Two black Ford Transit vans had blocked the exit, their high beams blindingly bright. Side doors slid open simultaneously, and six masked men stepped out, each dragging a bound, bleeding figure in a tailored black suit—Damian’s elite extraction team, left behind at the safehouse just twenty minutes ago.
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And standing in the center of the headlights was a woman with long, dark hair wet with rain, wearing a familiar silver pendant around her neck.
HOOK: The woman standing in the headlights wasn't Elena—it was an impostor wearing her face, holding a dead man’s phone that began to ring with a direct call from the inner circle of the Interpol director.
