Thirty-two weeks pregnant, I stood beside the fireplace at my husband’s family Christmas party while sixty guests filled the Dre estate outside Greenwich,

"A second son?" I repeated, the horror creeping like frost along my spine. "Victoria had another child?"

"A bastard born in secret when she was nineteen," Eleanor confirmed, her jaw tightening. "A boy named Christian. Victoria kept him hidden in London, funding him through untraceable trusts. When Matthias failed to secure the inheritance and was arrested, Christian stepped out of the shadows to claim the throne."

"The Caymans account," Julian muttered, his eyes blazing with a terrifying intensity. "Christian runs an international private equity firm out of London. He was the one financing Matthias’s legal defense behind the scenes. He wasn't trying to save Matthias—he was waiting for Matthias to die so he could take total control of the Claire estate!"

Suddenly, the red emergency beacon inside Vault 14 began to flash silently.

Monsieur Mercier’s voice came through the vault intercom, frantic and distorted by static. *"Madame Claire! Security has been breached on the ground floor! Armed men posing as federal marshals have entered the lobby! They have local police transponders—they are coming down the service elevators!"*

"Christian," Julian snapped, the grief in his eyes instantly replaced by combat readiness. He racked the slide of his Glock and turned to the bank manager's terminal. "Mercier! Seal the main elevator shaft! Trigger the high-pressure gas barriers in the vault corridor!"

*"I cannot!"* Mercier screamed over the speaker. *"They have overridden the master console from the exterior terminal! You have two minutes before they breach the vault door!"*

"We have to burn the ledgers," I said frantically, reaching for Box 14-A. "If Christian gets these, he can blackmail every institution holding our assets!"

"No," Eleanor said, grabbing my wrists with surprising power. "Do not burn them. Upload them."

She pointed to a high-speed fiber-optic data port beside the safety deposit lockers. "Your friend—Agent Boyd. If he receives the encrypted ledgers directly from this terminal, it becomes federal evidence in the United States and Interpol simultaneously. Christian can kill us, but he cannot kill an international wire transmission."

"Julian, the cipher," I shouted.

Julian shoved the silver cylinder into the data port and began rapidly entering the five-digit sequence his father had left in the envelope. On the monitor, a progress bar flashed green: *UPLOADING TO US DEPT OF JUSTICE SECURE SERVERS... 12%... 34%...*

Outside, the heavy clang of a battering ram struck the steel vault door. The sound echoed through our skulls like a funeral bell. Maya began to cry, terrified by the metallic vibrations.

"Hold her, Elena!" Julian shouted, taking position behind the viewing table, aiming his weapon at the reinforced hinges. "Whatever happens, do not stop the upload!"

*65%... 78%...*

A deafening explosion blew the pneumatic locks off the vault door. Smoke, debris, and sparks poured into the chamber as three men in tactical gear stormed through the opening.

Julian fired three rapid shots, dropping the point man instantly. A burst of automatic fire answered, shredding the mahogany shelves above our heads, showering Maya and me with splinters. Eleanor threw herself over the baby’s pram, shielding Maya with her own body.

"Clear the room!" a cold, British-accented voice echoed from behind the smoke.

A tall, elegant man in a bespoke trench coat stepped into the breach, holding a silenced pistol. His features were chillingly reminiscent of Victoria Dre—the same high, aristocratic cheekbones, the same dead, predatory blue eyes.

Christian.