Chapter 66 - The Highland Breakout
For three agonizing seconds, Tristan Vance stood frozen, his finger hooked over the hair-trigger of his pistol, staring into the eyes of the thirteen-year-old half-brother he had planned to reduce to biological leverage.
"Tristan," I said, my voice dropping to a low, maternal steel that brooked no defiance. "Arthur raised you to believe that power is taking whatever you want through terror and blood. Look where it got him. He died in a sterile Swiss vault, choking on his own lies, abandoned by the world and cursed by his own wife."
Tristan’s jaw clenched, his eyes darting toward the digital countdown flashing on the glass wall: *OXYGEN PURGE IN 03:12... 03:11...*
Outside the reinforced glass windows of the observation deck, his private tactical force had mobilized. Heavy battering rams and thermal cutting torches struck the blast doors, sparks showering across the catwalks, but the rebar-titanium bulkheads held firm.
"I have spent my entire life preparing for this throne," Tristan breathed, his voice cracking with the first sign of human desperation. "Arthur promised me the world."
"Arthur lied to you, just like he lied to Julian, just like he lied to Eleanor, and just like he lied to me," I replied. "You can pull that trigger and suffocate in this tomb. Or you can lower that weapon, stand aside, and watch how a real sovereign commands."
The digital timer ticked down: *02:45... 02:44...*
With a ragged, furious exhale, Tristan lowered the pistol. His hand dropped to his side, his shoulders sagging slightly beneath the heavy wool coat.
I didn't waste a heartbeat. "Maya, cancel the oxygen purge. Alexander, link our comms array directly to the Royal Navy Maritime Patrol frequency out of Lossiemouth."
Maya’s fingers danced across the console. "Purge aborted. Master authorization accepted: Katherine Vance, Sovereign Trustee."
The harsh red strobe lights instantly switched back to bright, sterile white. The blaring alarm cut out, replaced by the deep hum of the communications relay establishing an unrestricted military satellite uplink.
Over the command console’s central audio channel, an authoritative British voice crackled through the speakers: *"Unidentified sovereign facility off Aberdeen, this is Royal Navy Task Force North. We have received an emergency Interpol priority broadcast carrying the sovereign encryption of Vance Holdings. State your status."*
I leaned over the console, pressing the master broadcast button with an iron grip.
May you like
"This is Katherine Vance, Chairman and Sovereign Trustee of Vance Holdings," I stated clearly. "I am currently at an illegal offshore military compound on the Aberdeenshire coast. I have eighty armed mercenaries attempting a hostile breach of this observation deck. Deploy your maritime strike package immediately."
***
