Chapter 85 - The Boardroom of Phantoms
*"I know what you're thinking,"* the projection of Arthur Vance continued, his digital eyes seeming to lock directly onto mine. *"You’re wondering if I ever loved you. If your childhood in that house on Black Ridge was just another layer of deception."*
Arthur paused, looking down at his scarred hands before looking back up with an expression of raw, agonizing resolve.
*"I gave you a normal life for as long as I could, boy. I taught you how to shoot, how to build, how to survive when the cold winds blow off the mountain. Because I knew the monsters were coming for you the moment I stopped breathing. Eleanor thinks she controls the Syndicate. She doesn't realize she is simply their hunting dog. And the men who hold her leash are watching you right now."*
The projection flickered. The holographic array split into twelve distinct video feeds surrounding Arthur's image.
Twelve silhouettes sat around a digital boardroom table. Some feeds were masked with biometric scramblers; others displayed the cold, predatory faces of elderly billionaires, intelligence directors, and foreign oligarchs.
"The Obsidian Council," Victoria whispered, her hands gripping the edge of the terminal. "The true architects of the Syndicate."
One of the masked figures spoke through the digital channel, his voice mechanically modulated. *"Julian Vance. You are your grandfather’s grandson. Stubborn. Resourceful. Lethal. But look at your displays."*
On the secondary terminal, a live video feed opened.
Inside the rusted cargo hold of a breaching vessel, strapped to a steel chair with high-tensile wire, was my father, Richard Vance. His face was battered, his designer suit torn to ribbons, dried blood crusted over his nose and chin. Behind him stood two mercenaries in heavy tactical gear, one of them holding a pneumatic captive-bolt pistol against the base of his skull.
And beside him stood Eleanor Vance, wearing a tailored black combat suit, her hair pulled back into a severe knot, adjusting a pair of black leather gloves.
"Hello, Julian," Eleanor said directly into the camera feed, her voice dripping with cruel maternal intimacy. "I told your father that loyalty to Arthur was a losing investment. He wouldn't listen. Now, you have a choice. Harrison Croft has no doubt told you about the reactor's kill switch. But what he didn't tell you is that activating it floods this entire facility with forty thousand tons of seawater."
I looked at Croft. The old lawyer did not blink; his cybernetic eye glowed a steady, icy blue.
"She’s telling the truth," Croft said quietly. "Arthur’s cleansing fire is absolute. To purge the Syndicate’s network, Station Erebus must become a tomb."
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"Ten minutes, Julian," Eleanor warned, resting her gloved hand gently on Richard’s bruised shoulder. "Bring the Obsidian Core to the Sector 4 bulkhead, or I paint the walls with your father's brains. Let's see what Arthur taught you about family."
The feed cut to black.
