Chapter 54 - The Hague Protocol
Before Ethan could process the monumental revelation, the door to the ICU swung open with a sharp, metallic click.
Julian strode into the room, his tactical earpiece glowing blue, his expression darker than midnight. Behind him were two armed operatives carrying tactical travel bags.
"Julian?" Ethan croaked, struggling against the pain to prop himself up. "What's happening?"
"The Hague just fell silent," Julian said, his voice flat, razor-sharp. "The Dutch federal authorities were compromised. Forty minutes ago, an explosion crippled the eastern wing of the detention facility. Helena Harrell—the woman we thought was Victoria—has been extracted."
Phoebe stood up, her blood running cold. "Extracted? By whom? Her entire syndicate was dismantled! We seized every bank account from Zurich to the Cayman Islands!"
"Not all of them," Julian replied, pulling up a holographic satellite feed on his tactical tablet and placing it on the table before them. "There was a third vault. An unregistered maritime fund created fifty years ago by Arthur Vance and Helena Harrell under a shell company called 'The Leviathan Trust.' It held four billion dollars in bearer bonds and sovereign gold bullion. It was activated sixty minutes ago."
The screen displayed aerial infrared footage of a black Sikorsky helicopter touching down on the helipad of a massive, heavily armored mega-yacht sailing into international waters off the coast of Rotterdam.
"She has an army," Ethan whispered, his eyes blazing with an icy, dangerous fury that completely overpowered his physical agony. "She didn't just escape. She's heading for the final consolidation."
"What consolidation?" Phoebe asked, looking between the two men.
Ethan looked up at Julian. "The Apex Global shareholder assembly in London. It convenes in forty-eight hours. If Helena appears in person with the original Leviathan charters, she can invoke the fifty-year grandfather clause and legally revoke all of Phoebe’s ownership rights over Harrell Maritime and Apex Strategy."
"She would strip you of everything," Julian confirmed. "And under maritime salvage law, because Phoebe’s father is still incapacitated, Helena can claim conservatorship over Phoebe... and over the child."
Phoebe’s hands balled into tight fists, her knuckles turning chalk-white. A terrifying, predatory aura settled over her, chilling the air in the room.
"She wants my child?" Phoebe said, her voice dropping into a register of cold, lethal venom that made even Julian glance at her with respect. "She spent thirty years destroying my parents, turned my husband into an assassin, and shot him on our terrace. If she thinks she can step onto British soil and take my family, she has forgotten whose blood runs in my veins."
Ethan reached out and took Phoebe's wrist, pulling her close. His gaze was fierce, unyielding. "You aren't going to London alone, Phoebe."
"Ethan, you have a shattered shoulder and a punctured lung!" Phoebe argued, her protective instinct flaring. "You can't even stand without assistance!"
"I don't need to stand to pull a trigger," Ethan snarled softly, his voice trembling with sheer willpower. He pulled the IV needle from his own arm with a violent flick of his wrist, ignoring the bead of blood that welled on his skin. "Julian, prep the Gulfstream. Call our private medical transport. Pump me full of local anesthetics and adrenaline if you have to. I am not letting my wife walk into a room of wolves without her lion."
Julian looked at Ethan, then at Phoebe. A slow, grim smile crossed the veteran’s scarred face.
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"The jet is fueled at Florence International," Julian said, cocking his pistol and sliding it back into his holster. "We land at Farnborough at dawn."
***
