Chapter 9 - The Geneva Summit9 -
The annual gala of the Swiss-European Investment Council at the Grand Hôtel Beau-Rivage in Geneva was an opulent display of old-money wealth, glittering diamonds, and whispered corporate conspiracies. High-ranking executives, politicians, and global financiers mingled beneath massive crystal chandeliers, sipping vintage champagne and discussing international markets in hushed tones.
And tonight, it was also hosting the secret executive quorum of Vanguard Global Interests.
Dressed in a backless, emerald-green silk evening gown encrusted with subtle diamond threading, I glided through the grand ballroom on the arm of Viktor Vance, who played the role of my senior financial attaché with effortless charm.
“The executive board is meeting in the private penthouse suite on the seventh floor,” Viktor murmured softly into my ear as we paused near a pillar to accept glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. “Access requires biometric clearance and a rotating cryptographic passcode.”
“Don't worry about the passcode,” I smiled, tapping my clutch bag, which contained a high-frequency signal-cloner engineered by Sterling Global’s elite cyber-defense unit. “Just get me past the elevator guards.”
As if on cue, two towering security operatives wearing discreet earpieces and bespoke tuxedos blocked the private elevator bank at the end of the mirrored hallway.
Viktor stepped forward smoothly, flashing a forged diplomatic pass. “Special envoy for the Sterling-Vanguard asset consolidation committee. We have an urgent unscheduled briefing with Chairman Julian Vanguard.”
The head guard frowned, scanning the barcode on the pass with a handheld scanner. The digital screen flashed green.
“Proceed,” the guard grunted, stepping aside.
The private elevator whisked us upward in near-total silence. As the digital floor counter ticked past six, seven, the tension in my chest tightened like a coiled steel spring. This was it. The inner circle of the syndicate that had murdered my father, terrorized my mother, and tried to throw me and my unborn child off a mountain cliff.
Ding.
The elevator doors slid open to reveal a sprawling, minimalist penthouse suite overlooking Lake Geneva. Around a massive conference table made of smoked glass sat five elderly men in bespoke suits, deep in conversation.
At the head of the table sat Julian Vanguard—a towering, silver-haired patriarch with cold, reptilian gray eyes and a scar running down the side of his neck.
When Viktor and I stepped into the suite, the conversation died instantly. All five men turned their gaze toward us, their expressions darkening with immediate suspicion.
“Who authorized this interruption?” Julian Vanguard demanded, standing up slowly from his chair, his voice dripping with aristocratic menace. “Viktor... you were expelled from the board last month. And who is this?”
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I didn't flinch. I let go of Viktor’s arm, stepped forward into the center of the room, and let my evening gown rustle softly against the imported Italian marble floor.
“Good evening, gentlemen,” I said, my voice cutting through the silent penthouse like a razor blade. “Allow me to introduce myself. I am Emma Sterling. The woman your paid assassin, Michael Carter, failed to kill on a mountain pass in Colorado.”
