“Please… let me try.”

Deep beneath the streets of London, in a classified MI6 interrogation bunker, Richard Whitaker casually adjusted the cuffs of his bespoke suit. He was handcuffed to a steel table, but he sat with the relaxed posture of a king holding court.

Across from him sat Director Vance, a stern, gray-haired intelligence officer who looked like he hadn't slept in a decade.

"You are facing consecutive life sentences for biological terrorism, kidnapping, and murder, Mr. Whitaker," Vance said, slapping a thick manila folder onto the table. "Your empire is crumbling as we speak."

Richard offered a slow, chilling smile. "My empire is merely evolving, Vance. The files that rogue assassin leaked to the press were heavily encrypted and missing the keystone algorithm. To the world, it looks like science fiction. But you and I know it's real."

Vance remained stoic, but a subtle twitch in his jaw told Richard everything he needed to know. The government wanted the technology.

"Cellular regeneration. The absolute end of aging. The ultimate super-soldier serum," Richard whispered, leaning forward against his chains. "I can give you the complete formula. But I have two conditions."

"We do not negotiate with terrorists," Vance said, though his voice lacked conviction.

"Condition one," Richard continued smoothly, ignoring the director. "Full immunity and the immediate unfreezing of all my offshore accounts. Condition two: you bring me my infant son, Liam, and the head of the Syndicate operative named Julian."

"We don't know where they are. Your ex-wife vanished off the grid."

Richard let out a dark chuckle. "Danielle is a creature of habit. She will run to her strongest fortress. Check the thermal satellite imaging over the Uri Alps in Switzerland. She owns a decommissioned Cold War bunker there. She thinks she's hiding, but she just boxed herself in."

Vance stared at the arrogant billionaire, weighing the moral cost against the technological victory for his country. Finally, he reached into his pocket and placed a small, silver key on the table.

"A black ops team will be ready in one hour," Vance said coldly. "Do not make me regret this, Richard."

As Richard unlocked his handcuffs, his private phone, which Vance had conveniently returned, buzzed in his pocket. It was a secure text message from an unknown number.