Setting The Board

Kael

The leather seat of the limousine barely registered the cold against my fingertips before the sound of the engine wrapped around me like an embrace I hadn't felt in three years.

Outside the rain slicked window, the neon lights of Zurich stretched out in streaks of red and yellow. Up on the hill, the shadow of Banjo's penthouse tower was speeding into the low storm clouds. He was probably still standing in that police basement, clutching the signed divorce papers while his corporate bank accounts bled dry.

I didn't feel triumph. In fact, I'd expected an immense emptiness in the center of my chest, the weight of three wasted years and bruises that hadn't healed, and the bitter taste of the fact that to defeat a monster, I had to stop pretending to be a victim.

The silver haired man sitting across from me, my father's most trusted advisor before the syndicate fell apart, silently reached forward. He placed a small black satchel on the table between us.

Inside he'd placed a satellite phone with no commercial tracking software, and a clean passport bearing my real birth name: Merinda Kael. Not Merinda Vance. The fake identity he'd forced on me to keep me locked away in his shadow was finally dead.

"The driver is heading directly toward the private airfield in Kloten, Lady Merinda," Corvin said, his low, grave voice cutting through the soft patter of rain against the roof. "Banjo's legal team has already realized the magistrate's dismissal leaves them with no legal grounds to stop you but Jarrah will not let you leave Swiss airspace if he can prevent it."

"Jarrah is currently panicking because Tahlia stole the fifty million dollars out from under his nose," I said softly, picking up the satellite phone. The cold casing felt heavy in my palm. "He thought he was the master puppeteer. He didn't realize Tahlia was playing her own game."

"And what is your game, child?" Corvin asked, his eyes watching me with a mixture of deep sorrow and quiet respect. "You signed away St. Judes. You gave them your mother's land."

My thumb pressed firmly against the phone's side button. "I gave them a piece of paper with ink on it, Corvin. Land belongs to those who have the power to hold it. Banjo thinks he owns St. Judes now, but he has no idea what my father buried beneath those coastal cliffs."

The satellite phone screen lit up displaying a single, secured prompt: ENTER ALIAS IDENTIFIER.

I tapped the screen, typing five letters with steady, deliberate speed: K-A-E-L.

The device chimed once, a low frequency tone that scrambled the signal across six dummy servers spanning from Frankfurt to Singapore. A second later, the screen shifted, showing an active, high priority audio line connected to the syndicate's dark network.

A synthesized, low voice spoke through the speaker. "Identifier verified. Welcome back, Kael. State your directive."

I pulled the phone close to my ear, looking out the dark window at the rain sweeping across the highway.

"Activate Phase One," I said flatly.

A brief pause echoed over the line, followed by the faint rustle of digital data being transferred. "Phase One parameters requested: European Exit Strategy. Confirm target assets for liquidity conversion."

"Burn every bridge tied to the Vance name," I commanded, my voice dropping into a quiet, icy whisper that sent a shiver through the small cabin of the car. "Execute the short sell positions on Vance Enterprises' European banking shares immediately. Dump our secondary holdings in Lawson Global before the market opens in London."

Corvin's breath hitched slightly beside me, but he didn't interrupt. He knew what those orders meant. I wasn't just pulling my father's remaining wealth out of Europe, I was pulling the bottom out of the entire market. Once those short sell orders executed, Banjo's company wouldn't just suffer a loss, his stock value would plunge into the dirt, triggering an automatic margin call from his primary creditors.

"Understood, Kael," the voice said smoothly. "Short sell orders queued for eight AM GMT. What are your instructions regarding the St. Judes land deed signed under Vance Holdings?"

I closed my eyes for a long moment, memories of my mother's soft laughter on that windy Australian beach washing over me, instantly followed by the memory of Banjo's heavy hand striking my cheek in the servant quarters. The pain on my skin was gone, but the scar inside my chest was burning hotter than ever.

"Flag the title," I ordered, opening my eyes to stare dead ahead at the dark road. "File an immediate international lien against the deed through the Cayman Trust. Banjo wants to hand that land to Tahlia as a prize? Make sure the second she tries to break ground on a single building, the environmental injunction freezes every asset she owns."

"Phase One is locked," the handler confirmed. "Private transport is waiting on Runway Three. Estimated arrival in London: two hours. Will you require physical security upon landing?"

"No," I said. "Send the security detail to Baden Lawson's private estate in Surrey instead."

Corvin leaned forward abruptly, his eyes widening. "Baden Lawson? Merinda, Lawson is the one who bought your fake corporate leaks! He tried to destroy you!"

"Lawson bought what Tahlia sold him," I corrected, my tone dangerously calm as I looked at my father's old advisor. "He thinks he used Tahlia to ruin Banjo. He doesn't know Tahlia used him to move fifty million dollars out of the Vance reserve. Lawson thinks he holds all the cards right now which makes him the perfect target."

I turned back to the phone. "Tell Lawson's chief security officer that Kael is coming to collect her debt. If he refuses the meeting, release the real transaction logs from the Zurich central vault to the press."

"Directives logged," the voice said before the line went completely dead with a soft click.

I set the satellite phone down on the seat.

The limousine slowed down, turning off the main highway and passing through the high security gates of Zurich Kloten Airport. Ahead on the dark, rain soaked tarmac, a sleek black gulfstream jet stood waiting, its twin engines whining low as they spun up for takeoff.

The driver pulled the car to a smooth halt right beside the mobile boarding stairs. Corvin opened the door, stepping out into the cold wind and opening an umbrella over my head as I stepped out onto the wet asphalt.

The rain beat violently against the fabric above us, but I didn't rush. I walked slowly up the stairs, my coat tight around my shoulders, feeling the cold air fill my lungs.

As I reached the top platform near the open cabin door, my personal phone the old, cheap device Banjo had allowed me to keep vibrated violently in my pocket.

I pulled it out. The caller ID showed a number I knew by heart, a number that had never called me directly in three years.

Banjo Vance.

I answered it, holding the cold metal to my ear without saying a word.

Across the line, past the heavy sound of background noise and shouting voices, Banjo's voice came through rough, panicked, and completely broken.

"Merinda stop" he gasped out, his breathing ragged as if he were running. "Tahlia she's gone. She took the jet from the chalet and the police just found Jarrah in his office."

I gripped the handrail of the jet stairs, the wind whipping my hair across my face. "What about Jarrah, Banjo?"He's dead, Merinda," Banjo whispered, his voice trembling in absolute terror. "He was poisoned and the note left on his desk has your father's syndicate seal on it.”