MY HUSBAND DROVE ME INTO A RIVER TO DROWN—HE DIDN’T KNOW MY “PARALYZED” BROTHER WAS A SHADOW INVESTIGATOR WITH A VENGEANCE PLAN

Victor Thorne chuckled, a low, arrogant sound. "I assure you, Ms. Sterling, I have not miscalculated anything. The contracts are legally binding. The federal injunction is real. You are outmatched."

"The contracts were signed by Richard Sterling," Tobias interrupted, standing up from his workstation and walking over to stand beside me. "But Richard wasn't the CEO of this company three weeks ago. My sister was."

"A minor technicality," Victor dismissed with a wave of his hand. "Richard had absolute power of attorney over your estate, given your... unfortunate medical condition at the time."

"My medical condition was induced by neurotoxins," I countered, my voice dropping to a terrifyingly calm register. "Which makes any power of attorney signed during that period federally void under the coercion statutes. But we don't need a judge to tell you that. Tobias, show Mr. Thorne what we found."

Tobias tapped a single key on his laptop. The digital schematic on the glass wall instantly shifted. It didn't show financial ledgers; it showed a live, highly encrypted satellite feed.

Victor’s arrogant smile vanished. He took a sudden step toward the glass, his eyes widening in sheer, unadulterated shock.

The satellite feed was focused on a secluded, heavily guarded private port in the Mediterranean—the Vanguard Group’s primary smuggling hub. And surrounding the port, closing in from every side, were dozens of heavily armed international naval vessels.

"When we decrypted Richard’s hard drives, we didn't just find the contracts he signed with you," I explained, watching the color completely drain from Victor’s face. "We found the exact GPS coordinates of your illegal weapons caches. We forwarded the entire data packet, completely un-redacted, to Interpol and the Department of Defense at four o'clock this morning."

"You just declared war on a multi-billion-dollar syndicate," Victor hissed, dropping his polished facade, his hand inching toward his jacket pocket.

Marcus instantly drew his weapon, aiming it directly at Victor’s chest. "Keep your hands where I can see them, Mr. Thorne."

"I didn't declare war, Victor," I said, standing up from my desk. I walked around the oak wood and stood inches from the man who had tried to steal my father’s legacy. "I ended one. Your Mediterranean hub is currently being raided by international special forces. Your offshore accounts have been red-flagged by the federal government. You don't own this shipyard. You don't own anything."

The sound of heavy boots echoed down the hallway outside my office. The FBI agents who had been standing by in our lobby rushed into the room, laser sights dancing across Victor’s bespoke suit.

"Victor Thorne, you are under arrest for international weapons trafficking and corporate extortion," the lead agent barked, violently pulling Victor’s arms behind his back and snapping heavy steel handcuffs onto his wrists.