Chapter 136 - The Cold Boardroom
Hayes stepped between me and the tank, his expression implacable. "We are forty miles outside the territorial waters of Svalbard. In three hours, a private transport will land on the stern helipad. The Archons who survived the purge of the Ninth Vault are monitoring this feed right now."
He pointed to a black circular table at the edge of the suite, where seven small holo-projectors stood activated. Faint, blue, silhouetted figures flickered in the light—men and women sitting in darkened rooms across London, Zurich, and New York, silently observing this butchery via secure satellite.
"The Board has a proposition for you, Emily," Hayes continued, his tone formal, as if he were reading minutes from a shareholder meeting. "Eleanor’s physical state is deteriorating rapidly. The trauma from the immersion has induced multi-organ failure. Even with the child's bone marrow, her survival probability is less than twelve percent."
Inside the tank, Eleanor’s eyes flared with sudden, wild terror. She pounded a frail, bruised fist against the interior glass, her ventilator screeching as she tried to scream. The speaker had been muted. Her protests were reduced to pathetic, muffled thuds.
"The Board does not back losing investments," Hayes said without looking at her. "You have destroyed the Geneva terminal. You sank the Alpine facility. You eliminated Sarah. You survived every strike team we deployed. The Archons recognize competence, Emily. They recognize the true heir of Arthur Sterling’s will."
"What are you saying, Hayes?" I asked, my fingernails digging into my palms through the zip-ties.
"Take your mother’s seat," Hayes said simply. "Authorize the extraction protocol on the child. We will harvest the marrow, access the four billion in sovereign bearer assets, and you will take Eleanor’s place at the head of the Directorate. You will have more power than your father ever dreamed of. You will be untouchable."
The holographic figures flickered on the table, their silent posture a chilling testament to the absolute amorality of the machine my parents had served. They didn't care about Eleanor. They didn't care about Arthur. They cared only about continuity, control, and the preservation of the ledger.
May you like
"And if I refuse?" I asked.
Hayes’s hand rested on the holster of his sidearm. "Then the extraction proceeds regardless, Eleanor dies on the table, and you join Vance at the bottom of the Barents Sea. You brought this on yourself, Emily. That was always your mother's favorite phrase, wasn't it? Make your choice."
