Chapter 14 - The Heir to the Syndicate
"Hello, Evelyn," the man said smoothly, stepping into the dim fluorescent glow of the vault room. "You were always remarkably good at digging up things that were meant to stay buried."
I pressed my back against the cold metal safe wall, clutching the leather binder to my chest like a shield. "Who are you? Julian is in prison. The syndicate was dismantled!"
"Julian was just the CEO of the North American branch," the man replied, adjusting his cuffs with absolute nonchalance. "I am Marcus Vance, Julian’s younger brother, and the chairman of the global oversight board. Did you really think a few federal indictments and a rigged local trial could wipe out a forty-year medical enterprise funded by billionaires?"
He took another slow step forward, the muzzle of the pistol never wavering.
"Your husband, Arthur, was a brilliant man," Marcus continued, his eyes scanning the binder in my hands. "He built the foundation of our entire cellular rejuvenation protocol using Clara’s maternal lineage. When Arthur tried to back out in '98, threatening to expose us, we gave him a choice: walk away quietly, or let us secure the bloodline through his daughter. He chose his heart attack, Evelyn. We induced it."
The blood rushed in my ears, a roaring waterfall of rage and grief that wiped away every shred of fear. "You murdered him."
"We preserved the continuity of science," Marcus corrected smoothly. "And you, dear step-mother-in-law—or whatever title you prefer—you walked right into our trap three years ago. You stole Clara's embryo, you triggered the federal audit that cleaned house of our incompetent lower management, and now... you’ve conveniently brought the original research binder right back to our primary holding vault."
Marcus raised the pistol higher, his finger resting lightly on the trigger.
"Hand over the binder, Evelyn. Then we can arrange a very quiet, very permanent cardiac arrest for you as well. Just like Arthur."
My mind raced. I couldn't fight him physically; I was an old woman, recovering from major abdominal surgery and years of stress. But as my fingers grazed the heavy metal edges of the safe drawer behind me, my hand brushed against a heavy brass lock-pin that had fallen loose from the shelf.
"You won't get away with this," I stalled, my voice steady despite the adrenaline spiking through my veins. "Agent Miller and the FBI know I came to Cleveland. They’re tracking my car's GPS right now."
Marcus laughed, a cold, dry sound. "Agent Miller is currently sitting in a traffic stop three states away, courtesy of a bomb threat called in by our local assets. You are completely alone, Evelyn. No daughter. No federal protection. Just you, me, and the ledger."
He reached out his left hand to snatch the leather binder from my grip.
It was the only opening I would ever get.
May you like
With a guttural cry born of pure maternal fury, I lunged forward, not pulling away, but slamming the heavy metal safe drawer outward with all my remaining strength. The steel edge caught Marcus square in the stomach, knocking the wind out of him with a violent oof.
The pistol fired into the ceiling, the deafening gunshot echoing like thunder off the concrete vault walls as Marcus stumbled backward. Without looking back, I turned, scrambled past him down the narrow subterranean corridor, and threw myself against the heavy outer exit door just as the vault attendant’s alarm bells began to wail overhead.
