Chapter 8 - The Trap in Zurich
The digital ping echoed softly through the war room of the brownstone, where three massive computer monitors flickered with streams of encrypted data. Leo stood over the main console, his fingers flying across the keyboard while Dante paced behind him like a caged predator.
Orion lay across my feet, his heavy head resting on my shoes, anchoring me to the floor as the digital world spun out of control.
“Trace it again,” Dante commanded, his eyes fixed on the glowing screens.
“I am, Boss,” Leo muttered, beads of sweat glistening on his forehead. “The routing is bouncing through seven proxy servers in the Cayman Islands, but the primary handshake is coming from a private terminal in midtown Manhattan.”
I stared at the monitor displaying the bank transfer details. *Account Holder: Evelyn Vance.* The timestamp was less than twenty minutes old.
“If my mother is alive,” I said, my voice trembling, “why hasn’t she contacted me? Why hide for twenty years and then suddenly trigger a massive asset transfer?”
Dante stopped pacing and turned to look at me. The harsh overhead light cast deep shadows beneath his brow, making him look ruthless and dangerously focused.
“Because someone forced her hand,” Dante said. “Or... someone is using her old credentials as bait.”
“Bait for whom?”
“For us,” a voice said from the doorway.
We all whipped around. Leo’s hand dropped instantly to his gun holster.
Standing in the entryway was a man in his late fifties with silver-streaked hair, an expensive tailored suit, and a calm, terrifyingly familiar smile. He held a silver cane in one hand, leaning on it slightly as if he were taking a leisurely stroll through a park.
“Hello, Dante,” the older man said smoothly. “It’s been a long time.”
Dante’s body went completely rigid. Every muscle in his frame locked into a coiled spring ready to strike.
“Thomas,” Dante whispered, the name tasting like poison.
My heart hammered against my ribs. *Thomas Vance.* My grandfather. The man who was supposed to be dead.
“You look surprised, boy,” Thomas said, stepping further into the room with absolute confidence. He cast a brief, analytical glance in my direction. “And you... you must be Evelyn’s girl. You have her eyes. Though she lacked your unfortunate taste in pets.”
Orion let out a low, vibrating growl that rattled the glassware across the room. He rose to his feet, his massive shoulders bunched, baring white fangs.
“Call your dog off, Dante,” Thomas warned mildly, though his eyes flicked nervously toward the hound. “Or my men outside will turn this brownstone into rubble.”
Dante stepped in front of me, shielding me from my grandfather with his own body. His hand slipped inside his coat, gripping the cold steel of a hidden firearm.
“You died in a prison fire, Thomas,” Dante said coldly. “Or so you wanted the world to believe.”
“Prisons are so terribly claustrophobic,” Thomas smiled, adjusting his cuffs. “Especially when you have twenty million dollars waiting in Zurich and a granddaughter who doesn't even know she’s sitting on a goldmine.”
May you like
“Why are you here?” Dante demanded.
Thomas sighed, walking slowly toward the mahogany table. “I’m here to collect what belongs to me. And to finish what your mother started thirty years ago.”
