The Montgomery dining room glittered with crystal, polished silver, and calculated cruelty.

The private Gulfstream G650 cut through the midnight clouds at forty thousand feet, cruising smoothly above the dark expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. Inside the cabin, the atmosphere was a mix of intense concentration and quiet tension. The soft amber reading lights illuminated piles of financial records, encrypted hard drives, and satellite communication equipment spread across the polished walnut table.

Rachel sat by the window, a cup of black coffee cooling beside her as she reviewed the latest data feed sent from the Frankfurt branch of Vance Global. The numbers danced across her tablet screen—complex webs of subsidiary corporations, digital currency wallets, and dummy accounts designed to hide immense wealth from tax authorities and creditors alike.

Across the aisle, Nathan poured two glasses of aged scotch, handing one to Rachel without a word. She accepted it, her fingers brushing his.

"Frankfurt is bracing for a storm," Nathan said, taking a slow sip of his drink. "If those accounts are active, it means someone inside the German banking cartel is covering for my father. He never had the financial acumen to set up a network that sophisticated on his own."

"Which means there’s a traitor closer than we thought," Rachel replied, taking a small sip of the amber liquid. The burn was clean and sharp. "Someone in our inner circle—or someone from the old guard who managed to slip through our background checks during the merger."

"My money is on Director Vance," Nathan muttered, swirling the liquid in his crystal glass. "My uncle has always operated in the grey areas. He disappeared from the board meeting right before the vote today. I had my security detail tail him, but he managed to slip off the radar near the private aviation terminal."

Rachel’s eyes flashed with sudden realization. "Uncle Vance. Of course. He was the one who managed the European portfolio before Harold pushed him out of primary operations. If he’s trying to secure the Berlin funds, he’s not just saving Harold—he’s trying to stage a coup against both of us."

Just then, the satellite phone on the central console chimed, emitting a secure, encrypted tone. Secretary Park, seated at the rear workstation, immediately picked up the receiver, her face turning pale within seconds.

"Ms. Vance," Park called out, her voice urgent. "It’s Frankfurt intelligence. The Berlin accounts... they’re being accessed right now."

Rachel stood up instantly, setting her glass down so hard the liquid sloshed over the rim. "Trace the IP address. Who is logging into the terminal?"

"They’re using an encrypted tunnel routed through Zurich," Park typed furiously, her fingers flying across the mechanical keyboard. "The signature matches... it’s Director Vance’s private access key! He’s transferring the first tranche of funds into a private Swiss vault right now!"

"How much?" Nathan demanded, leaning over the console.

"Eighty million euros in the first batch," Park answered, her eyes wide with shock. "And there’s another three hundred million queued behind it. If that transfer completes, he’ll have enough liquidity to buy out our minority shareholders by sunrise."

Rachel didn't hesitate. She grabbed her tablet and walked straight to the cockpit communication panel. "Captain, what is our current ETA to Frankfurt?"

"Two hours and fifteen minutes, ma'am," the pilot’s voice crackled over the intercom.

"Cut it down to one hour and forty minutes," Rachel commanded, her voice dropping into a tone of absolute, chilling authority. "Push the engines to maximum safe threshold. Override standard air traffic routing if necessary—invoke the Vance Global diplomatic emergency protocol."

"Understood, Ms. Vance. Buckle up; it’s going to get bumpy."

The aircraft shuddered as the pilot engaged the afterburners, diving into a steep, high-speed corridor through the European airspace. Rachel returned to her seat, fastening her safety harness tightly as the cabin lights dimmed for high-altitude acceleration. She looked at Nathan, whose expression was hardened into stone.

"Looks like we won't even have time to check into the hotel," Nathan said, a dangerous edge in his voice. "We’re walking straight into an ambush."