Chapter 48 - Bloodline and Betrayal
Two hours later, we were back in the armored Mercedes speeding along the lakeside road toward our safe house. The signed transfer agreements lay safely inside my leather briefcase. Clara was now the sole legal owner of every asset Julian Aldrich had stolen, combined with the maritime empire the Consortium had hoarded for thirty years.
My phone vibrated against my chest. It was the private satellite line Frank had left with the medical team at the safe house.
I answered instantly. "Speak."
*"Mr. Vance!"* It was the lead Swiss doctor, his voice shaking with terror. *"You need to return immediately! There has been an incident!"*
My blood turned to ice. "What happened to Sarah?"
*"Mrs. Vance is secure in the panic room, but... the young lady, Miss Clara... she was reviewing Mr. Aldrich's personal encrypted tablet when she found something. She left the estate thirty minutes ago!"*
"What?" I roared. "Who let her leave?"
*"She took one of the armored sedans! She said her father's port in Wilmington was under attack—that someone had set fire to Berth 4!"*
I slammed my fist against the armrest. "Frank! Turn the car around! Clara’s been baited!"
Frank slammed the brakes, executing a violent drift across the slick asphalt, turning the Mercedes back toward the private airfield. "Boss, that’s impossible! We completely insulated Wilmington’s network! No one could touch Berth 4 without our terminal sounding an alarm!"
"Julian didn't send a signal to the terminal," I said, my mind racing through every detail of Julian's dying words. *"The real Syndicate... they're already waiting for Clara."*
It wasn't a corporate takeover. It was an extraction.
Julian’s tablet hadn't contained a panic alert; it contained a piece of fabricated evidence designed specifically to exploit Clara’s fierce devotion to the family’s legacy. She thought she was rushing to save the docks where our family had started.
I grabbed the tablet linked to Clara’s vehicle GPS. The glowing blue dot was moving rapidly toward Zurich International Airport—specifically toward the private jet terminal where our Gulfstream G650 was stationed.
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"She’s heading for the runway," Frank shouted, flooring the accelerator. "She’s going to fly to America alone!"
"Step on it, Frank," I snarled, checking the magazine of my weapon. "If she steps on that tarmac, she’s walking straight into the spider’s web."
