Chapter 8 - The Matriarch’s Gambit
The service elevator plunged down forty floors toward the belly of the St. Regis.
The air grew heavier, smelling of industrial laundry detergent, boiler steam, and damp concrete as the elevator doors groaned open into the sub-basement. The corridors down here were a labyrinth of exposed pipes, yellow caution tape, and flickering fluorescent tubes—a stark, ugly contrast to the gilded decadence forty floors above.
Julian led the way, a heavy steel flashlight he had grabbed from the elevator lobby gripped tightly in his right hand. Clara stayed close behind, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird.
As they rounded the corner toward the Security Operations Center, Clara heard the muffled sound of frantic voices and the rhythmic clatter of computer keyboards.
"—told you, it takes time to overwrite an encrypted partition!" a man’s voice hissed from behind the heavy steel door of Room B-12.
"Mother said we have less than an hour before the police might show up!" Victoria’s unmistakable voice snarled back. "Just pull the damn drives and smash them with a hammer!"
Clara grabbed Julian’s arm, pulling him back against the cinderblock wall.
"She’s in there," Clara whispered.
Julian didn't hesitate. He took two steps back to build momentum, raised his right leg, and kicked the heavy industrial door directly next to the latch with the force of a battering ram.
*BANG!*
The lock sheared through the doorframe. The door flew open, crashing against the interior wall with an ear-splitting bang.
Inside the cramped, screen-filled server room, three people spun around in shock.
A terrified hotel IT technician was sitting in front of a console, his fingers frozen over the keyboard. Standing behind him was Victoria, holding a heavy steel crowbar, and Evelyn, who was clutching a burning burner phone to her ear.
"Julian!" Evelyn gasped, dropping the phone onto the floor, where the plastic casing cracked open.
Victoria’s eyes narrowed into slits of pure, animal panic. She raised the crowbar, brandishing it like a club. "You just don't know when to stay dead, do you, Clara?"
"Drop the bar, Victoria," Julian said, his voice dropping into a register that made the technician instantly slide out of his rolling chair and press his back flat against the far wall, hands raised in surrender.
"You're ruining everything, Julian!" Victoria screamed, her knuckles white around the steel crowbar. "This company belongs to us! To the family! Father built it with blood and sweat, and you’re going to hand the keys to Arthur Vance’s orphan niece because you think with your heart instead of your brain!"
"Father didn't build an empire, Victoria," Julian said, stepping slowly into the room, cutting off her path to the servers. "He built a criminal syndicate that traded in bribery, shell companies, and blackmail. And Arthur Vance was the only man who had the spine to make him pay for it."
"Arthur Vance was a parasite!" Victoria lunged forward, swinging the crowbar directly at Julian’s head.
Clara didn't scream. She reacted.
Grabbing a heavy, five-gallon plastic water jug from the office water cooler beside the door, Clara hurled it with all her strength directly into Victoria’s path.
The heavy jug caught Victoria across the shins. She stumbled hard, her swing going wild and smashing into a secondary monitor, showering the desk with sparks and shattered LCD glass. Before she could regain her balance, Julian stepped inside her guard, grabbed her wrist, and twisted it downward with brutal, military efficiency.
The crowbar clattered harmlessly to the concrete floor.
Julian shoved his sister back onto an empty office chair, pinning her by the shoulders. He looked over at the shaking IT technician.
"Is the cloud backup operational?" Julian barked.
"Y-yes, Mr. Sterling!" the tech stammered, sweating through his uniform. "The rooftop feeds were synchronized to the off-site AWS server five minutes before Ms. Sterling ordered the local wipe. The footage is completely safe. It’s untouchable."
Julian looked down at Victoria, who was panting heavily, tears of rage finally spilling down her cheeks.
"It’s over, Victoria," Julian said coldly. "The footage is going to the District Attorney. You’re going to prison for attempted murder."
"Not yet, she isn't," Evelyn’s cold, crisp voice cut through the chaos.
Julian turned.
Evelyn was standing beside the main electrical shutoff panel, holding a heavy brass fire-hose nozzle she had unhooked from the wall mount. But more importantly, she was holding a signed piece of parchment in her other hand.
May you like
"Look at the time, Julian," Evelyn said, her voice eerily calm as she tapped her diamond-encrusted wristwatch. "It is 11:15 PM. You have forty-four minutes."
***
