Chapter 13 - Cracks in the Dynasty
"Thermite," Michael whispered, collapsing against the server rack. "If they have industrial cutting charges from the quarry, that reinforced steel won't hold longer than fifteen minutes. The heat alone will asphyxiate us in here."
Ethan didn't panic. The fog of doubt that had paralyzed him for three years had evaporated. Thomas hadn't betrayed him. Thomas had sacrificed his reputation, his standing, and ultimately his life trying to shield Ethan from a mother and brother who were willing to commit murder for corporate shares.
"Michael, bring up the estate's primary utility schematic," Ethan ordered, his voice steady, cold, and commanding.
Michael blinked, looking at Ethan as if seeing him for the first time. The hunched, defeated man who had spent three years staring at the garden from a drafty bedroom was gone. In his place was Arthur Vance's true son.
"Schematics... yes, right here," Michael stammered, pulling up the blue-lined architectural layout of the main house.
"The quarry equipment requires high-voltage feeds," Ethan said, tracing a finger across the glowing glass. "Where is the external junction box for the west wing?"
"It's routed through the sub-basement breaker directly behind the vault's air filtration unit," Michael realized, his eyes widening. "We control the master feed from here."
"Shut it down," Ethan said. "Cut the power to the entire estate. Lights, security gates, auxiliary lines. Leave only the emergency battery bank running in this room."
Michael didn't hesitate. He brought down the digital breakers with three keystrokes.
Above them, the low hum of the estate's massive climate control systems died instantly. The faint light leaking through the vault's ceiling vents vanished, plunging the world outside into total, pitch-black darkness.
A moment later, the estate's internal private line chimed on the console. It wasn't Chad. It was an encrypted line from the executive suite.
Ethan hit the speaker button. "Speak."
"Ethan? Is that you?" The voice was strained, aristocratic, and trembling with rage. Catherine Vance.
"Good evening, Catherine," Ethan said coolly. "You're standing in the dark."
"Stop this childish nonsense immediately!" Catherine hissed. "Do you have any idea what you're doing? The Asian markets open in three hours. If Vance Holdings' internal servers remain offline, our algorithmic trading desk will forfeit seventy million dollars in automated margin calls!"
"Then I suggest you tell your son to drop the cutting torch," Ethan replied. "Because if one spark touches that vault door, I'll wipe the master boot drives. Vance Holdings won't just forfeit margin calls; every transaction log from the last ten years will be deleted permanently. You'll be explaining ten billion dollars in unbacked assets to the federal authorities by breakfast."
A sharp intake of breath hissed through the receiver. Catherine was silent for a long five seconds. When she spoke again, her voice had dropped its arrogant veneer, replaced by the poisonous calculation of a cornered predator.
"You're smarter than I gave you credit for, Ethan. Arthur always said you had his mind, while Thomas only had his pride. But you're missing one critical fact."
"Enlighten me," Ethan said.
"You think Thomas was your savior?" Catherine laughed, a dry, bitter sound. "Thomas was terrified of you! Did he ever tell you why your father amended the succession clause forty-eight hours before he died? It wasn't because he thought you were weak. It was because Arthur discovered you weren't my son, nor were you the product of some passing affair. You were the sole child Arthur wrote into his biological lineage trust. If you take the company, Chad and I are left with nothing. Absolutely nothing."
Ethan felt the cold reality wash over him. "And Thomas?"
"Thomas was Arthur's adopted ward from his first marriage," Catherine revealed, her words dripping with malice. "Thomas knew that the moment you claimed your inheritance, his position as CEO was finished. He didn't swerve to save your life that night, Ethan. He was chasing you to take your briefcase—the one containing Arthur's original handwritten codicil!"
"You're lying," Ethan said, though a cold dread tightened his stomach.
"Am I?" Catherine whispered. "Ask Michael. Ask your loyal little archivist what was in the brown leather folio he removed from your father's safe the night Arthur stopped breathing."
Ethan slowly turned his head away from the speaker.
May you like
Across the room, Michael had backed away from the console, his hands raised, his face twisted in guilt.
***
