Chapter 9 - Judgment in ZurichForty-eight hours later, the penthouse suite of the Sterling Tower in Zurich was dead silent.
The floor-to-ceiling glass windows offered a panoramic view of the snowy Alps, but inside, the room felt like a tomb.
Victor Sterling sat in his high-back leather wheelchair, dressed in an immaculate cashmere sweater, holding a crystal glass of scotch. His hands trembled—not with age, but with absolute, unadulterated fury.
The heavy mahogany double doors of the penthouse slowly swung open.
Julian walked in first, his shoulder bandaged beneath a crisp black suit. I followed right behind him, flanked by Swiss federal police officers and Interpol agents. And walking hand-in-hand behind us were Noah and Eli, dressed in brand-new winter coats, looking up at the towering skyscrapers with wide, wonder-filled eyes.
Victor slowly turned his wheelchair around. His eyes locked on Julian, then on me, and finally, on the two boys.
"You..." Victor whispered, his voice cracking with venom. "You cockroaches. I should have made sure that plane hit the ground harder."
"You had your chance, Uncle Victor," Julian said coldly, walking right up to the old man's chair and leaning down until they were eye-to-eye. "And you failed. Just like you failed to kill our father, just like you failed to steal our company, and just like you failed to destroy our family."
Victor let out a harsh, rasping laugh. "You think putting me in cuffs changes anything? Aetherium is built on blood and steel, Julian! You can't just erase—"
"I didn't erase it, Uncle," Julian interrupted, tapping his wristwatch. "I liquidated it. Every cent you stole, every asset you hid, every shell company you owned—it was transferred to the global orphan relief fund five minutes ago. You're broke, Victor. You're a beggar in an expensive sweater."
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The color completely drained from Victor’s face. He slumped back into his wheelchair, the illusion of his untouchable power shattering into dust before his eyes.
The Interpol agents stepped forward, snapping cold steel handcuffs around the old man's wrists. As they wheeled him toward the elevator, Victor didn't look back. He was a ghost of a dying era, swept away by the very bloodline he had tried to extinguish.
