Chapter 107 - The Mother's Last Will
My hand hovered over the trackpad for five agonizing seconds. My pulse pounded against my temples, a rhythmic drum of pure venom.
I pressed play.
A hiss of static filled the cold warehouse, followed by the familiar, manicured voice that had once corrected my posture at Sunday dinner and criticized the way I held my teacup.
"Claire," my mother’s voice began. There was no warmth in it, only the sharp, calculating cadence of a woman who viewed human life as chess pieces on an ivory board. "If you are hearing this, Julian has failed to contain you, and the Trust has enacted the final liquidation protocol. Which means you survived the rig, or you are dead and your scavengers are picking through the bones of my estate."
She took a slow, deliberate sip of something—the clink of crystal ice against glass was unmistakable.
"You spent your life playing the moralist, Claire. You judged me for giving Evelyn the spotlight. You judged me for keeping Julian in the shadows. But you never understood that I was keeping you alive. The Archon Trust does not permit sentimentality. When your father pledged our lineage to them in exchange for his empire, he guaranteed them three souls: an operative, an ornament, and a reserve."
A soft, cynical laugh leaked through the speaker.
"You chose Mark Vance. A sweet, useless man who worked with his hands and believed in justice. When you brought him into this family, you contaminated the collateral. The Archons do not allow unauthorized heirs. Lucas and Lily were never supposed to exist. Their blood was an anomaly that threatened the equity."
I gripped the edge of the steel workbench so hard my knuckles turned white.
"I signed the order because the alternative was having them skinned in front of you while you watched. I gave them a quick end in that ravine. You should have thanked me on your knees at Evelyn’s party. Instead, you became a butcher."
Her tone shifted, dropping into a venomous whisper that echoed off the damp corrugated iron walls of the warehouse.
"You think you took everything from me, Claire? Look at the registry for the Alpine Vault in St. Moritz. The Archons don't keep their ledgers in the cloud. They keep them in stone. The Curator is holding the Sovereign Auction this Friday. Every contract, every debt, every drop of blood our family owes will be auctioned off to the highest bidder—including the rights to Mark’s remaining kin. If you want to finish this, come to Switzerland. But remember... a mother always knows how to break her child."
May you like
The recording clicked off, leaving only the sound of rain drumming against the tin roof.
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