My stepsister kicked me in the ribs while my father stood there watching, but when I pressed my emergency shortcut three times, the military police arrived—and the officer’s first question changed everything. / Chapter 65 / 81

Chapter 65 - Transmission from the Gilded Cage

The sound of my stepmother’s voice echoing through the airborne command bridge was like poison dripped into an open wound.

*"My husband and I are devastated,"* Denise spoke into the battery of microphones, her voice trembling with synthetic grief that was utterly convincing to the millions of citizens watching worldwide. *"We tried so hard to help Hannah. We tried to reintegrate her after her combat deployments, but the trauma... the radicalization... it corrupted her mind. And when she dragged Catherine into this web of treason, we were powerless to stop it."*

She lowered her head, allowing a dramatic pause as camera flashes exploded across the briefing room.

*"Hannah stole highly classified quantum telemetry from Fort Meade,"* Denise continued, her gaze hardening as she looked directly into the camera lens, speaking directly to us through the feed. *"She murdered loyal soldiers to cover her tracks. We urge anyone with information on their whereabouts to contact federal authorities immediately. To my stepdaughter Hannah... if you are watching this... surrender before more innocent blood is spilled."*

Marcus stepped forward to take the podium, radiating the unshakeable authority of the deep state. *"Shoot-on-sight orders have been authorized under the Insurrection Act. All commercial air travel on the eastern seaboard is grounded. Homeland Security has declared Martial Law Protocol Delta across twelve states."*

In the background of the feed, my father, Thomas Vance, took half a step toward the microphone. His hair was disheveled, his eyes bloodshot, his hands trembling so violently he had to grip the edge of the wooden lectern to keep from collapsing.

*"Hannah..."* his voice crackled through the speakers, cracked and hoarse. *"Hannah, please... if you can hear me... Denise promised... they promised me you wouldn't be hurt if you just brought the drive back—"*

Before he could finish the sentence, Marcus’s hand clamped down onto Thomas’s shoulder with the brutal, casual strength of an executioner. Marcus gave a tight, polished smile to the press pool.

*"My uncle is under extreme medical distress,"* Marcus announced smoothly, his fingers digging visibly into Thomas’s collarbone as two plainclothes security agents immediately stepped in, grabbing Thomas by his elbows and practically dragging him backward through the heavy wooden doors of the briefing room. *"We ask the media to respect the family's privacy at this tragic hour."*

The feed cut back to the news anchor.

Catherine slammed her fist against the bridge rail, her knuckles splitting. "He’s a prisoner. He’s an absolute coward, but they’re using him as a human shield!"

"He made his choice seven years ago," I said, my voice dangerously quiet, my heart thumping against my ribs with cold, calculated precision. "He sat in that leather armchair and watched Denise hit me. He signed the commitment papers for my mother. He handed them the front door keys. And now he’s trapped in the gilded cage he helped them build."

Commander Hayes signaled to his communications officer. "Did you trace the auxiliary carrier frequency on that Pentagon broadcast?"

The officer’s fingers flew across his holographic keyboard. "Yes, sir. While Marcus was speaking, a private sideband signal was routed through a redundant relay station outside of Arlington. It wasn't intended for the press. It was an encrypted burst transmission directed at an offshore server farm in the Bahamas."

"Decrypt it," Hayes ordered.

The technician isolated the audio layer. It wasn't public relations rhetoric; it was Denise’s voice, captured by an open lapel microphone as she walked away from the briefing podium, speaking to an unknown contact.

*"The decoy submarine in the Arctic failed,"* Denise was heard saying, her voice cold, devoid of any sorrow. *"Hannah and Catherine were pulled out by an unidentified air asset. Activate the secondary protocol at the estate. If Hannah attempts to reach the domestic grid, burn the entire estate to the ground and execute Thomas. Make it look like a suicide pact. We have forty-eight hours before the financial markets open on Monday to finalize the sovereign asset transfer. Nobody leaves the Virginia compound alive."*

The recording clicked off into silence.

Miller looked at me, his face grim. "They're going to liquidate your father to tie off the last legal ownership of the Vance defense contracts."

"And they're doing it in our house," Catherine whispered, her breath catching in her throat. "The house where our mother lived. The house where the original server core is buried under the wine cellar."

I turned to Hayes. "How fast can this ship reach Virginia?"

Hayes checked the navigation telemetry. "We are cruising at eighty-five thousand feet over the North Atlantic. If we engage the scramjets at Mach 5.2, we can be over Chesapeake Bay in fifty-four minutes. But the moment we drop below the civilian radar ceiling, every Patriot missile battery from Dover to Quantico will open fire on us."