Chapter 67 - The Sovereign Terminal
We moved deeper into the subterranean tunnel, following a gradual upward slope that Marcus insisted led toward the estate’s auxiliary power substation rather than the lake shore. If Julian had deployed a tactical force to the perimeter, his primary command post would be stationed where the high-bandwidth fiber optic trunks entered the property.
"He wants to execute the transfer tonight," Marcus analyzed quietly as we walked in single file through the damp passage. "The global markets open in Tokyo in three hours. If he consolidates the sovereign accounts before the Asian exchange starts trading, the Vance assets will be laundered across eighty different institutional funds. By morning, he’ll be legally untouchable."
"He won't get that far," I said, checking the battery on my encrypted satellite phone. The signal was dead beneath the limestone, but the physical drive inside still held the complete mirror of Arthur Weiss’s servers that we had seized in Zurich.
We reached a heavy iron door at the end of the corridor, bolted from our side with a vintage bronze wheel lock. Marcus examined the seams, nodding slowly. "No signs of tampering. This leads directly beneath the old carriage house. If Julian’s command vehicle is parked on the north drive, we’re sitting twenty feet below his rear bumper."
"Leo," I whispered, kneeling down in front of my son. He looked up at me, his eyes wide in the gloom. "Do you remember the game we played in the hotel room? The numbers and the colors?"
The boy nodded slowly. "The green ones go left. The blue ones go to the center."
"When we open this door, you stay behind Marcus no matter what happens," I instructed, my voice firm with an authority I barely felt inside. "Maya, you hold the cipher. If Julian gets his hands on you, you do not look into his terminal. Do you understand me? You close your eyes and you do not open them."
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"I understand, Mom," Maya said, her voice chillingly calm for a nine-year-old child. "I won't let him have the keys."
Marcus gripped the bronze wheel, bracing his boots against the uneven floor, and slowly began to turn it. The metal groans echoed softly through the damp stone, each revolution breaking decades of rust and grime until a faint click signaled the disengagement of the primary bolt.
