Chapter 7 - The Reflection of TruthReflected in the two-way mirror behind me wasn't just my own image.
Standing in the reflection, right at the top of the spiral staircase leading back up to the nursery, was someone who shouldn't have been there.
It was Elena.
Except she wasn't trembling anymore.
Gone was the frightened, submissive housekeeper who had spent the last two years cleaning my estate. Her posture was rigid, her eyes cold and calculating, and in her hands, she held Marco’s tactical shotgun, casually resting the barrel against her shoulder.
“Elena?” I called out, spinning around to face the staircase.
Up at the top of the metal steps, looking down into the cistern, Elena smiled—a thin, chilling smile that I had never seen on her face before.
“You always were so observant about business, Mr. Moretti,” Elena’s voice rang out, clear and completely devoid of the meek accent she had faked for years. “And yet, you never bothered to run a background check on your domestic staff.”
Marco’s voice echoed from somewhere above, muffled and panicked: “Boss! She locked me in the armory! She’s—!”
A muffled thud and a heavy bolt sliding into place cut Marco off completely.
My mind spun. The pieces clicked together with terrifying clarity.
“You,” I stared at her. “You weren't running from Vanguard. You were Vanguard.”
“I was Vance’s co-architect,” Elena corrected smoothly, walking halfway down the metal stairs, the shotgun held with professional ease. “When Alistair was sent away, someone had to stay on the inside, keeping the infrastructure maintained, monitoring your movements, waiting for the exact moment when your defenses were at their absolute weakest—when you had children.”
Vance laughed softly, leaning back against his control console. “A brilliant long-con, isn't it, Adrien? You thought you bought your freedom with a few whispered secrets to the FBI. But the syndicate never forgets. And we never forgive.”
“Why?” I demanded, keeping my pistol leveled between Vance and Elena. “If you wanted me dead, you could have poisoned my food a hundred times over two years.”
“Poison is for amateurs,” Elena said, her eyes flashing with cold fury. “We didn't just want you dead, Adrien. We wanted you to experience the exact same helplessness we felt in that black site. We wanted you to listen to your children scream, knowing you were completely powerless to save them.”
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The digital countdown timer on Vance’s tablet beeped softly: 02:15... 02:14...
“Checkmate, Mr. Moretti,” Vance whispered, raising his own small handheld detonator. “Say goodbye to your empire.”
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