Read on to uncover the truth behind what happens next.

11 -

The Grand Horizon Plaza was a soaring, seventy-story glass-and-steel monolith in the center of the metropolitan financial district.

Tonight, the grand ballroom on the top floor was transformed into a glittering palace of crystal chandeliers, flowing champagne, and velvet drapery. Hundreds of billionaires, foreign ambassadors, federal senators, and media executives mingled under the dazzling lights, completely unaware of the blood that had paved the road to this evening’s celebration.

Down in the subterranean service garage, Thomas Miller and I stepped out of the service elevator disguised as private audiovisual technicians, wearing dark suits and carrying heavy technical equipment cases.

Inside the cases were not cameras, but high-powered satellite transceivers and a portable digital broadcasting rig Harold Vance’s federal contacts had provided.

“The main audiovisual control booth is on the mezzanine level overlooking the ballroom,” Thomas whispered, checking his wristwatch. “Marcus Sterling is scheduled to take the podium at exactly 8:15 PM. The speech will be broadcast live on every major news network across the country.”

“Where is Rebecca?” I asked, checking the magazine of the Glock concealed beneath my jacket.

“Security chatter says she arrived twenty minutes ago via helicopter,” Thomas replied grimly. “She’s furious after the failure at Harold’s estate. She knows the net is closing in.”

We slipped through the service corridors, bypassing the computerized security doors using Sarah’s master administrative codes.

At 8:10 PM, we breached the audiovisual control room on the mezzanine. The two private technicians hired for the event were quickly subdued and bound by Thomas without a sound.

Thomas immediately plugged our satellite rig directly into the master broadcast switcher.

“We have complete control of the primary feed, Julian,” Thomas said, his fingers flying across the digital mixing board. “The moment Marcus begins speaking, we override the teleprompter, the giant LED screens behind the stage, and the national satellite uplink.”

Down in the ballroom, the lights dimmed.

A burst of polite applause rippled through the five hundred elite guests as Marcus Sterling slowly walked onto the grand stage, leaning on his silver-topped cane.

Standing directly behind him on the stage, looking radiant and utterly composed in an emerald-green designer evening gown, was Rebecca Sterling. She smiled graciously, playing the role of the devoted, brilliant heiress to perfection.

Marcus approached the podium, adjusted the microphone, and raised his hands for silence.

“Ladies and gentlemen, distinguished guests, and friends,” Marcus began, his voice echoing through the massive ballroom and into millions of homes nationwide. “Tonight, Sterling Biometrics stands on the threshold of a new dawn for human health. Today, we officially unveil the permanent cure for neurodegenerative atrophy—a triumph of modern innovation that will reshape the future of human longevity.”

The crowd erupted into thunderous applause.

Marcus paused, savoring the adoration of the elite.

“And to whom do we owe this miraculous breakthrough?” Marcus continued, gesturing toward Rebecca. “To the relentless dedication of my brilliant daughter, Rebecca Sterling, whose tireless research has brought this vision to life.”

Rebecca stepped forward, bowing her head in false humility, her face glowing with triumph.

“Julian,” Thomas whispered from the control console. “Now.”