My Parents Skipped the Funeral of My Husband and Two Children for My Sister’s Birthday, but Six Months Later, One Headline Made Them Panic When They Discovered What I Had Done. / Chapter 77 / 121

Chapter 77 - The Guest List of Wolves

The observation gallery on Sublevel 2 was designed like an amphitheater of shadows.

A semicircular tier of plush leather seats looked down through floor-to-ceiling panoramic glass into the cavernous depths of the decommissioned particle accelerator shaft—a vast, echoing pit of rusted iron and shadows. In the center of the gallery stood an illuminated podium, displaying a three-dimensional holographic projection of David’s neural cipher, interwoven with the double helix of my children's DNA.

Seated in the shadows were six men and women, each masked behind encrypted biometric tablets, their private bodyguards standing like statues along the wood-paneled walls.

At the podium stood Lord Alistair Finch.

He was in his late sixties, impeccably dressed in a bespoke Savile Row suit, with silver hair combed back from a predatory, aristocratic face. He held a glass of amber scotch in one hand, speaking with the smooth, cultured cadence of a man who traded human souls between sips of vintage whiskey.

"...the genetic integration is flawless," Finch was saying, his voice amplified by the gallery’s acoustic system. "Dr. Vance’s research represents the only functional bridge between quantum neural processing and synthetic bio-interfaces. Victoria believed she could hold this asset as an insurance policy. But Victoria was sentimental. She let the mother live long enough to burn her house down."

A cold chuckle rippled through the seated buyers.

"The bidding currently stands at one point four billion euros," Finch continued, raising his glass toward a portly German industrialist in the second row. "The package includes the physical collateral on Sublevel 4, the primary cryo-samples, and the full biological decryptor. Do I have one point six?"

"You have zero," a voice rang out from the rear shadows.

The gallery froze.

The heavy double doors at the top of the amphitheater did not open; they were blown off their hinges by a concussive breaching charge. The shockwave shattered the overhead crystal chandeliers, showering the plush leather seats with glittering shards of glass.

Smoke and blinding white light poured into the room.

Before the private security details could draw their weapons, I moved through the smoke.

My rifle fired in rhythmic, double-tap bursts. The guard to Finch’s left dropped instantly, his chest torn apart. The second guard whipped his submachine gun around, but my round caught him directly between the eyes. He collapsed backward over the brass railing, plunging fifty feet down into the dark abyss of the accelerator shaft.

Screams erupted. The billionaire buyers scattered like roaches, dropping their encrypted tablets, diving behind leather chairs as gunfire ripped through the paneled walls.

Finch didn't dive. He stood frozen behind the podium, his scotch glass shattered on the floor, staring in absolute disbelief at the figure walking through the clearing smoke.

I lowered my rifle, my eyes locked on his throat.

"You..." Finch choked, his aristocratic composure cracking like cheap porcelain. "You were supposed to be rotting in an unmarked grave with the rest of your pathetic family."