Chapter 13
The safe house in the suffocatingly humid suburbs of Washington D.C. was entirely unassuming—a faded brick colonial wrapped in overgrown ivy. It was exactly the kind of place a billionaire tech architect would hide when the world began to collapse around him. It was three in the morning when Clara and Elias arrived. They did not knock.
Elias bypassed the biometric lock on the back door with a portable decryptor in less than forty seconds. They moved through the dark kitchen with predatory silence. Stuart was in the basement, bathed in the frantic, blue glow of multiple server racks, frantically transferring funds and scrubbing his digital footprint. He was a thin, nervous man whose brilliance was entirely eclipsed by his cowardice.
He didn't hear them over the hum of the cooling fans until Clara’s ceramic blade was resting gently against his carotid artery.
Stuart froze, a pathetic squeak escaping his throat as his hands hovered over the keyboard.
"Cancel the transfer," Clara whispered into his ear, her voice devoid of any warmth.
"Clara," Stuart gasped, his eyes darting wildly to the massive silhouette of Elias standing at the base of the stairs, a suppressed pistol aimed directly at his chest. "Clara, please. You don't understand. They threatened my family. The Frontline... they have operatives everywhere. If I didn't give them the backdoor, they were going to kill everyone I love."
"You traded my husband's life for your comfort," Clara said, the blade pressing a millimeter deeper, drawing a single bead of blood. "You traded my daughter's safety for a wire transfer. You are going to tell me exactly how you communicate with the Velvet Frontline, and then you are going to open a window into their network."
"I can't!" Stuart sobbed, tears streaming down his pale face. "The proxy is one-way! I only receive instructions! But... but there's a summit. An auction. The Frontline's executive board is gathering in forty-eight hours in Geneva. They are expecting Marcus to deliver the physical keys. Without him, the buyers will be unprotected for a narrow window while they try to restructure the deal."
Clara pulled the blade back an inch. "Where in Geneva?"
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"The Montreux Estate. It's a private fortress on the lake," Stuart babbled, desperately pulling up a hidden schematic on his monitor. "I can forge the biometric invites. I can get you inside the perimeter. Just please, Clara, don't kill me."
Clara looked at the schematics. The estate was heavily fortified, a modernized castle surrounded by deep water and sheer cliffs. It was a suicide mission. But it was also the only chance she had to end the war before it reached her daughter. "Forge the invites," Clara commanded. "And if the credentials fail at the gate, Elias will come back here and finish this."
