Chapter 2 - The Ghost in the Glass
Ten minutes later, Elias stood in the center of her office, his face a mask of furious, silent calculation. He was reviewing the security footage on a tablet, rewinding the same three minutes over and over.
"The cameras looped," Elias said, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "A localized cyber-intrusion. State-of-the-art. Whoever put this on your desk knew the blind spots, bypassed the biometric scanners, and walked out without triggering a single alarm."
"I don't care how they did it, Elias," Veronica snapped, pacing the length of the room. Her usual icy composure was fracturing. "I want to know who did it. I want to know who is leveraging my dead sister’s handwriting to blackmail me."
"There is no demand for money," Elias pointed out, looking at the card.
"Money is for amateurs. They want the empire." Veronica stopped, staring at the shattered espresso cup. "Find them. Pull every favor, every contact, every dark web tracker you have. I want a name by midnight."
It didn't take until midnight. At 4:00 PM, Veronica’s private, unlisted cell phone—a number known only to three people on the planet—vibrated.
She answered, her voice cold. "Speak."
"It's a beautiful view from the top, isn't it?" a young, sharp voice replied. It was a woman’s voice, carrying a distinct, mocking British lilt. "But the foundation is rotting. Meet me at the Battersea Power Station. The old south turbine hall. Midnight. Come alone, or I send the patent blueprints of Crimson Ruin to the press, along with the police report from the fire."
The line went dead.
At midnight, the air inside the abandoned turbine hall was thick with dust and the smell of ancient iron. Veronica stood in the center of the cavernous space, draped in a black cashmere trench coat. She wasn't entirely alone; Elias had a sniper rifle trained on the room from a rusted catwalk two hundred yards away.
Footsteps echoed in the dark.
From the shadows emerged a young woman, perhaps twenty-two years old. She wore a worn leather jacket and combat boots, a stark contrast to Veronica’s haute couture. But it wasn't her clothes that made the breath catch in Veronica’s throat.
May you like
It was her face. High cheekbones, piercing hazel eyes, and a sharp, defiant jawline. She was the absolute, undeniable mirror image of Serena.
"Hello, Aunt Veronica," the girl smiled, a cruel, razor-thin expression. "My name is Maya. And I believe you have something that belongs to my mother."
