Chapter 42 - Bloodline Usurpation
"You played us," I said, step by step advancing past Clara, putting myself directly between my brother and my daughters. "From the very beginning. The rumors of the hidden daughter, the hit squads at the South Gate, the underground siphon—you didn't just survive, Arthur. You orchestrated the collapse so you could walk in and claim the crown without getting your hands dirty in the war."
"I saved your life, Julian," Arthur countered smoothly, unbothered by my fury. "Had I not fed Clara the forged coordinates, you would have buried Lily in the salt mines of Romania. Had I not leaked the antidote protocol for the glass cradle, your second daughter would have died of pulmonary failure before she ever drew unassisted breath. I kept your family alive. All I ask in return is what was stolen from me."
"You want absolute dominion over the De La Tour sovereignty," the Matriarch hissed from her dias, trembling with impotent rage. "You are mad, Arthur! The high council will never ratify this! The banking houses in London—"
"The banking houses in London were liquidated at four o'clock this morning," Arthur cut her off coldly. He snapped his fingers.
From the cathedral vestibule, half a dozen operatives dressed in unmarked charcoal tactical gear filed into the nave. Unlike the manor guards, these men were seasoned operators, their weapons fitted with custom suppressors, their movements disciplined and lethal. Two of them swiftly ascended the dias. Without ceremony, they disarmed the Matriarch's personal retinue and kicked Vivienne’s cane out from under her. The old woman fell hard against the stone steps, gasping in shock as zip-ties bound her wrists behind her back.
"Take the elders to the lower catacombs," Arthur commanded. "Strip their comms and seal the iron gates. If anyone resists, you have authority to neutralize."
"Julian!" Clara whispered urgently behind me. "We cannot stay here. His men control the perimeter. Look at the shadows by the choir loft—snipers."
I scanned the upper balconies. She was right. Red laser sights danced invisibly in the cold mist rising from the wet stones, occasionally painting the edges of our collars. Lily whimpered, burying her face into Clara's coat, while Maya, weaker from her weeks inside the glass chamber, leaned heavily against my leg.
"What do you want with my daughters, Arthur?" I demanded, clenching my fists until the nails bit into my palms.
"They are the keys, Julian. The Swiss vaults, the sovereign trusts in Luxembourg, the naval shipments off the coast of Marseille—they require dual biometric genetic verification from the primary twins. At least until they reach the age of majority. For the next eleven years, they are my living signatures."
He took another step toward us, extending a gloved hand toward Maya. "Hand the girls over. I will provide you and Clara with a comfortable estate in New Zealand. Unlimited funds. Total anonymity. You will live in peace, away from the blood, the intrigue, and the dying rot of this family."
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"And leave my daughters to be raised as your political hostages?" I spat on the floor before his polished boots. "Over my dead body."
Arthur's face hardened, the warmth of fraternal affection vanishing like mist in a furnace. "I was hoping you would be more practical, Julian. But then again, you always were blinded by sentimentality."
