I walked into my boyfriend’s family barbecue twenty-seven weeks pregnant / Chapter 40 / 63

Chapter 40 - The Safehouse on the Bluff

The drive to the coastal bluff safehouse was executed in complete military convoy protocol. Three identical black SUVs navigated the winding coastal highway, their GPS trackers scrambling frequencies every ninety seconds to prevent satellite interception.

We had evacuated the house on Oakridge. It was no longer safe. Thomas had breached our perimeter once; we would not give him a second chance while Maeve’s nursery remained compromised.

The new location was an imposing, concrete-and-glass modernist fortress built directly into the granite cliffs overlooking the Atlantic. Originally commissioned by Julian as an offshore communications relay station during the height of the Cold War real estate boom, the property was completely off the grid, powered by geothermal pumps and guarded by a private security detachment that reported directly to Marcus’s firm.

I carried Maeve in her carrier, holding her close against my chest as the sea wind whipped my hair across my face. The salty air was sharp and cold, a stark contrast to the sterile dread of the past twelve hours.

"Security perimeter is established, sir," the head of our security detail announced as we entered the reinforced foyer. "Motion sensors active on the beach access and the cliffside stairs. No unauthorized vehicles within four miles."

Tyler took off his jacket, his eyes hollow with fatigue, but his determination burning with a terrifying intensity. He hadn't slept in thirty-six hours. He sat down at the heavy oak table in the center of the panoramic living room, where two portable mainframe computers were already humming with green indicators.

"We have three hours before the Geneva transfer executes," Marcus said, plugging the titanium drive into the main terminal. "Tyler, if we initiate the genetic override, the system will immediately notify the secondary account holder. Thomas will know the exact millisecond you access the ledger."

"Let him know," Tyler replied coldly. "He wanted a war for the Vanderberg name. He’s going to get one."

The forensic technician prepped the digital swab scanner. "Mr. Vanderberg, I need a deep buccal swab and a fingerprint sample on the optical pad simultaneously. The algorithm compares thirty-two specific genetic markers against the original charter signed by your grandfather."

Tyler leaned forward, pressing his thumb against the glowing green glass while the technician ran the swab across his cheek.

The screen flickered. A high-pitched tone sounded through the room as a progress bar appeared on the monitor:

*ANALYZING GENETIC SEQUENCE: VANDERBERG, T. J.*

*MATCH CONFIRMED: 99.87% PATERNAL HEREDITARY CONSANGUINITY.*

*SYSTEM ACCESS: GRANTED.*

A massive spreadsheet of international accounts, encrypted gold vaults, and real estate holdings spanning seven European capitals spilled across the screens in a cascading waterfall of numbers.

"My God," Marcus whispered, staring at the bottom line. "It's not nine hundred million."

Tyler leaned closer, squinting at the ledger. "What is it?"

"It's 2.4 billion euros," Marcus breathed. "Julian didn't bleed the account dry. He doubled it. And he hid the second ledger inside a private blind trust established exclusively under one name."

I stepped forward, looking over Tyler's shoulder. "Whose name?"