Chapter 2 - THE PAPER TRAIL OF THE DEADChaos erupted in the cathedral.
Cameras flashed from the back rows as rogue reporters—who had snuck past the tight security—scrambled to capture the explosive confrontation. Whispers exploded into shouts. Marcus Cole’s hands shook as he gripped the leather folder, his professional composure shattering into a million pieces.
“Lies!” Marcus roared, stepping forward to block her path to Lady Eleanor. “A desperate stunt! Eleanor, don't listen to this psychotic imposter! She’s a grifter hired by your corporate rivals to derail the merger!”
On the floor, Lady Eleanor pushed herself up onto her elbows. Her tear-filled eyes locked onto the young woman’s face. She didn’t see a stranger. She saw ghost-like features staring right back at her—the sharp jawline, the piercing green eyes, the exact stubborn tilt of the chin that belonged to her long-lost, presumed-dead son, Jonathan.
“Jonathan...” Eleanor whispered, her voice cracking with agonizing grief and sudden, blinding hope. “My boy... is he...?”
“He passed away six months ago, Grandma,” the young woman said softly, kneeling beside the old woman and gently placing a hand over her trembling, ring-laden fingers. “He spent decades hiding in the shadows because he knew someone inside the inner circle tried to murder him. But before he died, he gave me everything. Every document. Every receipt. Every name.”
Marcus lunged forward, his face contorted in sheer panic. “Guards! Remove them both! Now!”
Before the security guards could take a single step, the heavy mahogany doors at the back of the cathedral blew open with a deafening bang.
A dozen men in sharp federal suits marched down the aisle, led by a stern-looking woman holding a massive leather briefcase. She flashed a shiny golden badge high in the air.
“Federal Bureau of Investigation and the National Securities Commission,” the lead agent announced, her voice echoing authoritatively through the hall. “Marcus Cole, you are under arrest for corporate espionage, embezzlement, attempted murder, and illegal asset stripping of Vance Global.”
Marcus stumbled backward, his legs hitting the edge of a mahogany pew. He stared at the federal agents, then whipped his head back toward the young woman in the white shirt. She was standing up slowly, brushing a speck of dust off her sleeve, watching him with a cold, predatory smile.
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“You...” Marcus hissed, his voice trembling with venom. “You planned this.”
“I didn't plan anything, Marcus,” she replied smoothly, pulling a crisp, folded document from her back pocket and letting it snap open in the air. “I just showed up to collect what you stole. My name is Lyra Vance. And the game is over.”
