Chapter 48

POV: Liam

​The fallout from Isabella’s interview was a tidal wave, a digital tsunami that swept away every nuanced argument we had prepared. By Wednesday morning, the world wasn't talking about securities fraud, the ethics of the Sterling Trust, or the illegality of human experimentation. They were talking about the "Girl with the Flatline."

​I stood in the glass-walled lobby of the Sterling Tower, looking out at the chaos on the sidewalk. The street was a sea of bodies and neon-colored signs. I watched the protesters, my breath fogging the cold glass. Some held signs that read Protect Human Rights or Isabella is Us, but those voices were being drowned out. More held signs that read Seize the Tech or Equity for Humanity. The fascination with her "miracle" had curdled into a hunt. People weren't inspired by her anymore; they were frightened by her perfection.

​"The board is calling an emergency session," Sarah said, appearing at my elbow. She looked like she had aged five years in the last five days. Her eyes were bloodshot, and her movements were jittery, fueled by too much caffeine and not enough hope. "They’re not waiting for Thursday’s shareholder meeting. They’re calling a snap vote right now."

​"To remove me?" I asked, turning away from the window. I expected it. I almost welcomed it.

​"To split the roles," she said, her voice a low, frantic whisper as we moved toward the executive elevators. "They want to keep you as CEO—for now—to maintain a sense of continuity for the markets. But they want to appoint a separate Chairman. Someone 'neutral' to handle the Vane-Sterling integration and the fallout from the Medusa leak."

​"Neutral," I said, the word tasting like poison. "You mean Arthur. They’re bringing in the brother to play the part of the grieving, responsible sibling."

​"Worse. They’re talking about Eleanor."

​I stopped in my tracks, the elevator doors sliding open with a soft chime. I felt a cold dread settle in my bones. "They wouldn't. The board knows she’s the source of the investigation. They know she’s the primary antagonist in Isabella's story."

​"She’s the one with the capital, Liam. She’s the one who’s been quietly buying up the distressed debt while you were at the bunker. She’s the only one who can 'stabilize' the asset without a total federal seizure because she holds the original patents. The board thinks she’s the only one who can make the bleeding stop."

​We entered the boardroom, and the atmosphere was different than it had been forty-eight hours ago. It was full. Every seat was occupied by a person who looked like they were participating in a religious rite. Miller was at the head of the table, her posture regal, her expression one of supreme confidence. She looked like she’d already won the war.

​"Mr. Sterling," she said, her voice as smooth as polished stone. "We’ve reviewed the viral data from last night’s broadcast. It’s clear to the committee that the 'Isabella Vane' brand is no longer a human asset in the traditional sense. It’s a technological one. And as such, it requires specialized, experienced management that doesn't have the burden of a personal connection."

​"She is my wife," I said, the words echoing in the sterile room. I realized as soon as I said it how weak it sounded to these people.

​"She is a Sterling-funded project that has gone rogue and jeopardized the valuation of this entire firm," Miller countered, her eyes flashing. "The board moves to split the CEO and Chairman roles. We move to appoint Eleanor Vane as the Interim Chairwoman of Sterling Tech, effective immediately, to oversee the 'recovery' phase."

​"She’s the one who leaked the biometric data!" I shouted, slamming my hand onto the table. "She’s the one who’s manipulating the public narrative to make Isabella look like a machine! You’re putting the fox in charge of the hen house."

​"She’s the one who’s saving our stock price," Miller said, unaffected by my outburst. "The market has already responded to the rumor of her appointment. We’re up six points in pre-market trading. The vote is open. All in favor?"

​One by one, the hands went up. It was a rhythmic, synchronized movement. I watched them, feeling the last of my influence vanish. Even Sarah’s hand rose slowly. She didn't look at me this time. She kept her eyes on the table, her face a mask of professional resignation.

​"Motion carries," Miller said. "Liam, you are still the CEO for the duration of the transition. But you no longer have the authority to make decisions regarding the Vane inheritance, the legal strategy for the DOJ, or the Medusa core. Those are now Chairwoman Vane’s responsibility."

​I stood there, paralyzed by the sheer efficiency of it. I was a figurehead. A puppet in a suit, kept around only to keep the shareholders from panicking while Eleanor dismantled my life.

​"The shareholder meeting is still on for tomorrow," Miller added, already gathering her papers. "But it will be a formality. Eleanor will be there to announce the 'stabilization' plan and the new direction for the Medusa project."

​I walked out of the room. I felt like I was moving through deep water, every step requiring a Herculean effort. I had tried to save Isabella by bringing her to the center of the world, and all I had done was lead her directly to the slaughter. I had played right into Eleanor’s hands.

​I went to my office and locked the door, the click of the bolt sounding like a finality. I had to reach her. I had to tell her that Eleanor was already inside the building, that the board had flipped, and that the D.C. hearing was a trap.

​But as I reached for my desk phone, the screen on my computer flickered. A red bar appeared across the top.

​Access Denied. Internal Security Override.

​I looked at the camera on my laptop. The small green light was on, staring at me like a predatory eye.

​"Hello, Liam," Eleanor’s voice came through the high-fidelity speakers. It was calm, maternal, and utterly terrifying. "You really should have taken the deal I offered you in the elevator. It would have been so much cleaner for everyone involved."

​"What have you done with her, Eleanor?" I asked, my voice shaking with a rage I couldn't contain. "Where is she?"

​"Isabella is preparing for her testimony," Eleanor said, her image flickering onto the screen. She was sitting in a room I didn't recognize, looking perfectly composed. "She thinks she’s going to D.C. to tell the truth to a panel of senators. She thinks she’s going to be the hero of her own story. But she’s not going to D.C. She’s going to the gala at the estate. Arthur is waiting for her. He’s missed his sister."

​"I won't let you do this. I'll call the press. I'll tell them everything I found in the Ouroboros files."

​"You don't have a choice, Liam. You’re just the CEO. And as of five minutes ago, the CEO has been put on administrative leave pending an internal investigation into the misappropriation of company resources—specifically, your unauthorized entry into the Connecticut bunker."

​The lights in my office went out. The hum of the air conditioning died. The door clicked—a heavy, electronic lock engaging that I couldn't bypass. I was trapped in my own tower, a prisoner of the empire I had helped build.

​The cliffhanger wasn't my imprisonment or the loss of my title. It was the image that appeared on my monitor as the system began its final shutdown.

​It was a live feed from a private hangar. A white jet was taxiing toward the runway. Isabella was on it; I could see her silhouette through the window, looking out at the sky with the posture of someone who thought she was finally taking control of her destiny. She looked determined. She looked ready to fight.

​But the flight path displayed on the pilot's navigation screen wasn't heading south toward Washington D.C.

​The line was moving east. It was a direct, unwavering line to Arthur Vane’s private estate in the Hamptons—a fortress where the public couldn't see, and the law didn't reach. And as the jet took off, Isabella remained seated, unaware that the pilot had changed the destination and that she was flying back into the heart of the project she thought she had deleted.

​I hammered my fists against the door, but the sound was swallowed by the thick, soundproof walls.