Chapter 7 - The Penthouse at the Dolder Grand
The luxury hotel perched high above Zurich, overlooking the shimmering lights of the city and the frozen lake below. While the hotel lobby was alive with string quartets and European aristocrats sipping champagne, the top-floor royal suite was surrounded by federal tactical agents in plain clothes.
Inside the suite, Richard Vance was frantically throwing luxury watches, bearer bonds, and burner phones into an Italian leather duffel.
He looked unrecognizable from the smooth, arrogant man who had toasted Chloe Laurent twenty-four hours earlier. His tie was loosened, his designer suit wrinkled, his eyes bloodshot and twitching with frantic paranoia.
"Where is the pilot?" Richard screamed into a satellite phone. "I don't care about the blizzard! I paid for an all-weather chopper! Get it on the pad now!"
The double doors of the suite clicked open.
Richard spun around, a silver snub-nosed revolver already in his hand. "I told you not to come in until the pad was—"
He froze.
I walked into the suite, dressed in an immaculate cream-colored wool coat, my head held high, my diamonds catching the chandelier light. Behind me stood Steven, his eyes locked on Richard like a hawk targeting its prey, and beside him walked Julian Vance.
Richard’s jaw went slack. The gun in his hand began to shake uncontrollably. He stared at Julian as if he were staring at the devil himself.
"Arthur...?" Richard gasped, the blood draining completely from his face until he looked like a corpse. "No... Arthur is dead! I saw him buried!"
"You always were an unobservant little thief, Richard," Julian spoke, his voice dripping with venomous amusement. "Arthur built the empire. I am the brother who buries the garbage."
Richard stumbled backward against the mahogany dining table, knocking over an expensive vase that shattered across the parquet floor. He looked at me, then at Julian, the horror dawning in his eyes as he connected the pieces.
"You... you set me up," Richard stammered, pointing the shaking barrel toward my chest. "You gave me the bank codes. You told me Protocol Omega would wipe my trails!"
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"Protocol Omega wiped your trails, Richard," I said, taking two deliberate steps forward, showing zero fear of the weapon in his trembling hand. "Right into the custody of the Swiss Federal Prosecutor and the FBI."
***
