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đŸ”„ VIRAL THRILLER: "HE THOUGHT MY CAST WAS A COFFIN—UNTIL MY DEAD FATHER’S LEDGER SPOKE FROM THE GRAVE!" / Chapter 6 / 8

Chapter 6 - The Poison PillDefeated in court, the Prescott empire began to eat itself from the inside out.

Panic-stricken by his mother's denied bail and the freezing of their domestic accounts, Adrian realized that FinCEN was closing in on his offshore holdings. Desperate to secure liquid cash, he made a fatal mistake.

He went to visit Vivian in the high-security detention facility, believing their conversation would be protected by attorney-client privilege since Julian Vance was present.

What Adrian didn't know was that Julian—facing potential disbarment for unknowingly handling laundered retainer fees—had quietly agreed to cooperate with federal prosecutors to save his own career.

"You idiot!" Vivian hissed across the glass partition, her hair unkempt, her makeup vanished. "Why haven't you accessed the Erebus reserve fund?"

"I can't!" Adrian whispered frantically, sweat pouring down his forehead. "Hannah put a administrative lock on all corporate routing numbers before she fell! The only way to bypass it is with her biometric signature or... or her death certificate!"

"Then finish it!" Vivian growled, leaning close to the glass. "She’s sitting in that hospital, helpless! Use the syringe Charles kept in the safe! The potassium chloride! It causes heart failure—the doctors will think her injured heart simply gave out under the stress!"

Adrian shuddered. "Mother, there are federal marshals outside her room!"

"Then bribe them! Pay them off with the Nassau accounts!" Vivian slammed her hand against the glass. "If she lives to testify at the grand jury next week, Charles will be exposed, and all of us will spend the rest of our lives in a federal penitentiary! Do it, Adrian, or I swear I will tell the prosecutor that the balcony sabotage was entirely your idea!"

Adrian stared at his mother in absolute horror. The realization hit him like ice water: his mother didn't care about him. She was ready to throw him to the wolves to save herself and her long-dead husband.

Numbly, Adrian stood up and walked out of the visitation room.

Outside the building, he pulled out his phone and dialed a secret, encrypted number.

"Father," Adrian stammered into the receiver. "Mother failed. The police know about Nassau. I... I have to go to the hospital tonight. I have to kill Hannah myself."

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Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering wheel of his matte-black Bentley, staring at the imposing wrought-iron gates of his own estate. To the world, the Sterling name was synonymous with untouchable wealth, bleeding-edge tech investments, and a picture-perfect modern family. But as the automated gates slid open with a soft, expensive hum, Arthur didn't feel like a master of a universe; he felt like a stranger walking into a trap he had built with his own hands.

Arthur Sterling tapped his leather-wrapped fingers against the steering...

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverberating directly through the plaster of the master bedroom's walk-in closet wall.

The sound hung in the air, rhythmic and deliberate—tap, tap, tap—reverbe...

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang of the Boston Harbor. It hit Dileia like a physical blow, cutting right through the thin polyester of her service uniform. She shivered, though she refused to wrap her arms around herself. Doing so would look like weakness, and tonight, weakness was a currency she couldn't afford to spend.

The wind on the balcony was sharp, carrying the bitter, fish-heavy tang...

From the dark back seat of a tinted SUV parked across the street, a cold, gravelly voice answered:

"Don't fail me like your mother did, son. Because if you do... you won't live long enough to see a courtroom."

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