Chapter 3 - The War in Geneva
The private terminal at Geneva Airport was quiet when my Gulfstream touched down at three in the morning. Rain slicked the runway, reflecting the amber floodlights of the airfield.
I stepped out of the aircraft dressed in a tailored black velvet suit, my dark hair pulled back into a sleek, functional knot. Behind me, Marcus carried two silver cases containing the hard drives extracted from Preston's private servers in Marbella—drives that contained the complete routing codes for Aethelgard Holdings.
We were met on the tarmac by two dark sedans driven by my Swiss legal and intelligence team, led by Madame Helene Laurent, a brilliant, cutthroat financial attorney who had represented my father's interests in Europe for two decades.
"Victoria," Helene said, embracing me briefly before turning to lead me into the sedan. "The situation in Geneva is escalating rapidly. Lord Roderick’s agents have spent the last six hours attempting to liquidate the accounts of Aethelgard Holdings. They are trying to move four billion euros out of the Swiss system into untraceable cryptocurrency nodes in Asia."
"Have the Swiss authorities blocked the transfers?" I asked as the sedan sped out of the airport perimeter toward the banking district.
"Not yet," Helene said, opening a tablet detailing the banking protocols. "Roderick holds high-level diplomatic immunity through his board positions with European medical agencies. The Swiss Federal Banking Commission refuses to freeze the accounts without direct, physical evidence connecting the funds to human trafficking and illegal medical testing."
"Then we deliver the evidence directly to the board of directors," I said.
At eight o'clock that morning, the grand glass-and-granite tower of the Banque Privée de Genève was bustling with executive traffic. In the penthouse boardroom, twelve senior directors of the private banking syndicate sat around an oval mahogany table, sipping espresso as they prepared to authorize the massive wire transfer for Aethelgard Holdings.
At the head of the table sat Jean-Luc Vance—Roderick’s younger brother and the Chief Financial Officer of the banking group. He was a polished man in his sixties, wearing a bespoke double-breasted suit, his demeanor calm and detached.
"The wire transfer authorization is complete," Jean-Luc said, tapping his gold pen against a leather-bound ledger. "Four point two billion euros will be transferred to the Singapore entity at nine thirty AM. Are there any objections from the board?"
"Only one," my voice echoed from the heavy double doors at the entrance of the boardroom.
The twelve directors turned in unison.
I walked into the room alone, my heels clicking against the marble floor with deliberate, measured steps. Marcus and four armed security guards remained in the hallway, blocking the exit.
Jean-Luc’s eyes narrowed, his calm facade slipping for a fraction of a second before he recovered his composure. "Miss Sterling. This is a private executive session of the bank board. You have no standing here. Guards, escort her out."
"The guards in the hallway are mine, Jean-Luc," I said, stopping at the foot of the table. I placed a sleek black USB drive on the mahogany surface, sliding it toward the center of the table. "And your standing as Chief Financial Officer ends in three minutes."
The directors exchanged uneasy glances. The senior chairman of the board, an elderly Swiss banker named Baron Von Hirsch, leaned forward, looking at me over his spectacles.
"Miss Sterling," Von Hirsch said guardedly. "We are aware of the scandal surrounding your wedding in New York yesterday. However, domestic legal disputes between you and Preston Vance do not give you authority to interfere with international banking operations."
"This isn't a domestic dispute, Baron," I replied. "That drive contains the complete transaction history of Aethelgard Holdings for the past twelve years. It shows that thirty percent of the funds sitting in that four-billion-euro account were generated by illegal human trials conducted in unregulated facilities across Eastern Europe—facilities managed directly by Roderick and Jean-Luc Vance."
Jean-Luc slammed his pen onto the table, standing up, his face flushing dark red. "This is absurd! Libelous nonsense! She is trying to weaponize this bank to conduct a personal vendetta against my family!"
"Look at screen four, Baron," I said, ignoring Jean-Luc completely.
Von Hirsch reached out, plugging the USB drive into his master tablet. The large video displays along the boardroom walls flared to life, displaying a series of financial ledgers, wire transfers, and medical patient logs stamped with the seal of Aethelgard Holdings.
Among the names on the patient logs were high-profile figures—politicians, industrial tycoons, and foreign diplomats who had received illegal, experimental cell therapies funded by Roderick’s network. But beneath those names were the real records: hundreds of unwilling donors whose identities had been erased from public databases.
The room went deathly silent.
Von Hirsch’s face turned gray as he scrolled through the documents. He looked up at Jean-Luc, his voice cold with disgust. "Jean-Luc... is this authentic?"
"It's a fabrication!" Jean-Luc spat, his hands trembling slightly as he reached inside his jacket for his mobile phone. "She hacked our private servers and altered the files!"
"I didn't hack your servers, Jean-Luc," I said softly. "Preston gave me those access codes six months ago when he tried to use my personal device to authorize a transfer from my estate. He thought I was too stupid to realize what he was doing. He left his master administrative token active on my system."
Jean-Luc froze, his hand stopping inside his coat.
"If you execute that four-billion-euro transfer to Singapore," I told the board, "every member sitting at this table will be named as an accessory to international human trafficking and money laundering under the Geneva Convention. My legal team has already filed a copy of these records with the Swiss Federal Prosecutor."
Outside the glass windows of the boardroom, the distant sound of sirens began to echo through the streets of Geneva.
Baron Von Hirsch immediately reached for his master terminal, pressing a red authorization button. "The Aethelgard accounts are officially frozen," he announced, his voice firm. "All wire transfers suspended pending federal investigation."
"You can't do this!" Jean-Luc roared, lunging across the table toward Von Hirsch.
Before he could reach the chairman, Marcus stepped into the boardroom, grabbing Jean-Luc by his lapels, twisting his arm behind his back, and forcing him down onto the mahogany table.
Two Swiss federal police officers, accompanied by federal prosecutors, strode into the boardroom seconds later, their badges displayed.
"Jean-Luc Vance," the lead prosecutor announced. "You are under arrest for financial fraud, conspiracy to traffic illegal medical substances, and money laundering."
As the officers pulled Jean-Luc up and handcuffed him, I stepped into his line of sight.
"Two down, Jean-Luc," I whispered cold into his ear. "Your brother Roderick is next."
Jean-Luc glared at me with pure, poisonous hatred, but he said nothing as he was led away in handcuffs, past the silent, horrified members of the bank board.
I turned back to Baron Von Hirsch. "Thank you for your cooperation, Baron."
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"Miss Sterling," Von Hirsch said, standing up and extending his hand with deep respect. "Your father was an honorable man. It seems his daughter possesses the same formidable strength. But be warned: Lord Roderick will not accept the loss of four billion euros lightly. He is a dangerous man when cornered."
"I know," I said, shaking his hand firmly. "That's why I'm cornering him."
