Part 17
The Sterling estate was located in the rolling hills of Surrey, surrounded by miles of manicured gardens and electric fencing.
Our armored Maybach pulled up to the massive wrought-iron gates, which opened slowly after a long, intense security check.
The mansion itself was a towering piece of Victorian architecture, looking more like a fortress than a home.
As I stepped out into the chilly British air, a butler in a flawless tuxedo greeted me.
"Ms. Vale. Mr. Sterling is waiting for you in the conservatory," he said, bowing slightly.
"Only you, I'm afraid. Your associate must remain in the lobby."
Marcus stepped forward, his hand instinctively moving toward his jacket, but I raised a hand to stop him.
"Wait here, Marcus," I said, my voice steady. "If I'm not out in one hour, initiate Project Blackout."
Project Blackout was our emergency protocol—a coordinated short-sale attack on Sterling Industries' stock using our sovereign wealth partners.
The butler led me through long, echoing corridors lined with priceless oil paintings of dead ancestors.
The air inside the house smelled of old money, expensive tobacco, and a distinct undercurrent of decay.
We reached the conservatory, a massive glass structure filled with exotic, carnivorous plants from around the world.
Sitting in a wheelchair at the center of the room was Alistair Sterling.
He looked older than his photographs, his skin translucent and his breathing assisted by a subtle oxygen tube.
But his eyes—pale blue and intensely sharp—were completely alive with malice.
"Victoria," he rasped, his voice sounding like dry leaves scraping against concrete.
"You look remarkably like your father. Especially around the eyes. Obstinate. Proud."
"I don't have time for nostalgia, Alistair," I said, walking over to a marble table and dropping the silver rattle onto it.
The metal clattered loudly against the stone, echoing under the glass dome.
"You sent this to my building. You funded Thomas. You tried to cast me into the streets."
"Let's skip the pleasantries and get to the terms of your surrender."
May you like
Alistair stared at the rattle, then slowly looked up at me, a cold, mocking smile stretching across his withered face.
"Surrender?" he whispered, coughing slightly. "My dear girl, you haven't even realized that the game has already moved past you."
