Chapter 16
The grand hall of the Montreux Estate was a symphony of grotesque excess. Beneath vaulted ceilings painted with Renaissance frescoes, the world's most dangerous power brokers mingled in bespoke suits and designer evening gowns. Warlords, corrupt intelligence directors, and billionaire arms dealers sipped rare champagne while discussing the casual restructuring of global geopolitics. At the center of the room, displayed like a holy relic in a bulletproof glass case, was the master server node for the Velvet Frontline’s shadow network.
Clara and Elias had discarded their dive gear in the boathouse, changing into the immaculate, tailored evening wear they had sealed in waterproof bags. Clara wore a sleek, blood-red gown that allowed for full mobility, her hair pulled back sharply, a diamond necklace concealing a microscopic comms unit. She walked through the heavy oak doors of the grand hall like she owned the building, Elias trailing a few paces behind, blending seamlessly into the crowd of imposing bodyguards.
She spotted him almost immediately. Victor Volkov. The chief financier of the Velvet Frontline. He was a tall, skeletal man with pale eyes and a jagged scar running down his jawline. He was standing by the glass case, laughing softly with a European defense minister.
Clara didn't hesitate. She picked up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and walked directly toward him. The temperature in the immediate vicinity seemed to drop as she approached. Volkov’s bodyguards tensed, but Volkov raised a hand, his pale eyes locking onto Clara with a mixture of profound shock and dark amusement.
"Clara Vance," Volkov purred, his accent thick with aristocratic Russian arrogance. "I was told you were dealing with a legal crisis in the States. To find you here, in the heart of our sanctuary... it is either an act of unparalleled bravery, or profound stupidity."
"I came to cancel a contract, Victor," Clara said, her voice smooth, cutting through the ambient noise of the party. She did not break eye contact. "Marcus didn't have the authority to sell you the drone AI. And I don't tolerate thieves."
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Volkov chuckled, a dry, rasping sound. "The money has changed hands, my dear. The architecture is already being integrated. You are a widow standing in a room full of wolves. What exactly do you think you can do?"
Clara took a slow sip of her champagne. "I think I’m going to burn your house down."
