Chapter 33
Thorne stared at Clara, his chest heaving as he clutched the silver briefcase like a shield. "You think you've won? You think this ends with me? The coalition will never bow to the Vance syndicate! You are usurpers!"
"Open the briefcase, Thorne," Silas said, stepping up beside Clara, his presence a towering wall of lethal promise. "Let's see what you traded your life for."
Thorne’s hands shook violently. He fumbled with the clasps, flipping the silver case open. He turned it around, expecting to show them billions in bearer bonds. Instead, the case was completely empty, save for a single, crisp white envelope.
Thorne dropped the case, staring at the envelope in absolute horror. "No. No, the contacts swore the assets were here."
"I seized the assets twelve hours ago," Clara informed him, retrieving the white envelope from the floor. She tore it open and pulled out a single sheet of paper. She read it, her brow furrowing slightly, before looking back at Thorne. "This isn't a ledger. This is a transfer order from a federal penitentiary in Illinois."
Silas frowned, his combat instincts flaring. "What are you talking about?"
"Thorne didn't come here for the money," Clara whispered, realization dawning on her with the force of a physical blow. She looked at Thorne, her brown eyes widening. "You used the bank as a distraction. You needed us out of Chicago."
"What did you do, Thorne?" Silas roared, grabbing the gaunt man by the throat and slamming him violently against the titanium door.
Thorne laughed, a wet, choking sound as blood trickled from his split lip. "You thought I was the architect? I am just a facilitator. Your wife has a very angry, very resourceful family member who was more than willing to trade his loyalty for a pardon."
Clara’s blood ran to ice. "My father."
"Graham Hart was released from federal custody yesterday morning," Thorne smiled maliciously, though his face was turning blue from Silas's grip. "My people orchestrated a medical furlough. He is a free man, Clara. And he wants his empire back."
"Graham is a bankrupt coward," Silas snarled, tightening his grip. "He has no men. He has no power."
"He didn't need men," Thorne wheezed, his eyes rolling back. "He just needed the access codes to your primary servers. Codes that your lovely wife so conveniently used to bankrupt him three years ago. He kept a digital trace, Silas. He has your entire network."
Silas dropped Thorne to the floor, turning to Clara. The absolute, unshakeable confidence in his eyes was replaced by genuine, frantic urgency.
"If Graham has the server keys, he can disable the security grid at the Chicago estate," Silas said, his voice tight.
May you like
Clara felt the floor tilt beneath her. The Chicago estate was empty, save for a skeleton crew of guards. But it wasn't the guards she was worried about.
"Julian," Clara gasped, the name of her adopted son—the child she had fought so hard to reclaim from her sister and Graham—tearing from her throat. "He’s at the estate. My father is going after my son."
