Chapter 71

POV: Liam

The lobby of Sterling Tower didn't recognize me.

I stood before the security turnstiles, my soaked suit clinging to my frame like a second skin. The marble floors—the ones I had polished with my own pride for years—stretched out like a cold, white desert. I reached for my biometric scan, but the sensor didn't even flicker. It remained a dull, indifferent red.

"Can I help you, sir?" a guard asked. He was new. He didn't know the face of the man whose name was etched in the glass above the door.

"I’m here for the board meeting," I said. My voice was steady, though my lungs felt like they were filled with glass shards from the run across the city.

"The executive floors are closed to the public today, sir. There’s a private session in progress."

"Tell Director Halloway that the ghost is in the lobby," I said, leaning over the desk. "Tell him that if he doesn't clear me for the express lift in ten seconds, I’m going to start shouting the details of the 2014 pension theft to the tourists in the plaza."

The guard’s brow furrowed, but he picked up the internal line. He spoke in whispers, his eyes darting to my ruined shoes and the grime on my face. A moment later, the turnstile gave a sharp, electronic chirp. The light turned green.

"Floor sixty-four, sir," the guard said, his voice trembling. "They’re expecting you."

I walked to the lift. The ride up was silent, the pressure in my ears the only reminder that I was ascending back to the heavens I had been cast out of. When the doors opened on the executive floor, the change was instantaneous.

My father’s wing was gone.

The mahogany panels had been stripped away and replaced with brushed steel. The oil paintings of the Sterling founders had been removed, leaving pale rectangles on the walls like unhealed scars. In their place were digital displays showing the Vane logo—a stylized "V" that looked like a bird of prey.

I walked toward the CEO’s office. The heavy double doors were open.

"You’re late, Liam," Halloway said. He was sitting on the edge of the conference table, a glass of water in his hand. He looked like he hadn't slept in a week. "The vote to finalize the asset transfer happened an hour ago. You’re standing in a building that officially belongs to the Vane Trust now."

"The trust is built on a theft, Thomas," I said, walking to the center of the room. I didn't look for my chair. I knew it wouldn't be there. "I found the 2014 logs. My father didn't merge with the Vanes to save the company. He did it because Eleanor found out he had moved three billion from the employee pension fund to cover the Sterling debt."

Halloway went still. The glass in his hand rattled against the table. "You don't know what you're talking about."

"I do. And so do you. That’s why you signed the conflict report, wasn't it? You were in on it. You were the one who signed the secondary authorizations for the pension move."

"We were trying to save the jobs, Liam!" Halloway shouted, his face turning a dark, mottled red. "The market was collapsing! If we hadn't moved that money, the company would have been liquidated by Christmas. Everyone would have lost everything!"

"And instead, you sold the company's soul to a woman who uses people as hardware," I said. "Where is she, Thomas? Where is Eleanor?"

"She’s at the terminal," Halloway whispered, his voice failing. "She went to get Isabella. She said... she said she was going to bring her home."

"She’s going to kill her," I said. "She knows Isabella has the bridge codes. She knows that if that video goes live, the 'saving the jobs' excuse won't stop the DOJ from putting you all in a cage for the rest of your lives."

"She wouldn't hurt her own daughter," Halloway said, though the lack of conviction in his voice was sickening.

"She already did," I said.

I walked to the executive terminal—the one console in the building that still responded to a Sterling's physical key. I didn't need a password. I needed the weight of my hand on the glass.

"What are you doing?" Halloway asked, stepping toward me.

"I’m initiating a 'Grandfather Clause' override," I said. "The building’s security system is tied to the Sterling pulse. If I lock it down from here, no one gets in or out. Not even Eleanor."

"You’ll trap us all in here with the files!"

"That's the point," I said.

The screens in the room began to flicker. The Vane logos disappeared, replaced by the old Sterling crest. The lights dimmed to a deep, emergency amber.

"Liam, stop!" Halloway lunged for me, but I shoved him back.

"It’s done," I said. "The tower is in isolation. No data leaves this floor. No signals. No cloud sync. We’re in a vacuum, Thomas. Just us and the truth."

The silence that followed was absolute. The hum of the servers, the whir of the air conditioning—all of it died. The only sound was our breathing and the distant, muffled roar of the city sixty-four floors below.

"You've just ended the company," Halloway said, sinking into a chair.

"The company ended in 2014," I said. "We’ve just been haunting the halls."

My phone—the burner Marcus had given me—vibrated in my pocket. There was no signal, but a local Bluetooth ping was trying to connect.

Device: IB_Bridge.

Isabella was in the building.

"She’s here," I whispered.

"Who?"

"Isabella," I said. "She didn't go to the safe-deposit box. She came here."

I ran for the doors, but the lockout I had just initiated was too efficient. The heavy steel shutters were sliding down over the exits. I had trapped myself in the office, and I had trapped Isabella in the service tunnels.

"Thomas, the override codes!" I shouted. "The ones for the service elevators!"

"I don't have them!" Halloway cried. "Eleanor changed the protocols this morning!"

I looked at the monitors. A single camera feed was still active—the one in the basement sub-level. I saw her.

Isabella was standing in the dark, the light from her laptop the only glow in the room. She was looking at the camera. She knew I was watching. She held up the drive, her face set in a grim, determined line.

And then, I saw the second silhouette.

Eleanor stepped into the frame. She wasn't carrying a weapon. She didn't need one. She was carrying a handheld terminal—the master override for the Medusa core.

"She’s going to re-sync her," I said, my heart stopping. "Even with the shunt offline, Eleanor can trigger a neural purge if she’s within ten feet of the hardware."

"Liam, you can't get down there," Halloway said. "The stairs are locked. The lifts are dead."

I looked at the window. The rain was still lashing against the glass. I looked at the maintenance cradle—the one used by the window washers—parked just outside the ledge.

"I don't need the lift," I said.

I grabbed a heavy glass award from the desk—the "CEO of the Year" trophy I’d won in 2024—and smashed it against the reinforced window. It took three hits before the glass spiderwebbed. I kicked the center out, the cold wind and rain howling into the office.

"Liam, you're insane!" Halloway screamed.

"I'm a Sterling," I said, stepping onto the ledge. "We always did have a problem with heights."

I reached for the cable of the maintenance cradle. The metal was slick and freezing. I didn't think about the sixty-four stories. I didn't think about the market. I thought about the girl in the basement who had once told me she wanted to be invisible.

I stepped off the ledge.

The world became a blur of grey stone and rushing air. I slid down the cable, the friction burning through my leather gloves, my boots kicking against the glass. I was falling, but for the first time in my life, I wasn't afraid of the crash.

I reached the fortieth floor, then the twentieth. The speed was terrifying. I saw the lobby lights rushing up to meet me. I swung my body toward the maintenance door on the third floor—the one that fed into the service ducts.

I hit the door with my shoulder, the impact jarring my bones, but the latch gave way. I tumbled into the darkness of the service floor, gasping for air, my hands raw and bleeding.

I didn't stop. I ran for the stairs that led to the sub-level.

"Isabella!" I shouted, my voice echoing through the pipes.

I reached the server room. The door was ajar. I burst through, my chest heaving.

Isabella was on the floor. Eleanor was standing over her, the terminal in her hand glowing with a sickly, rhythmic violet light.

"It’s over, Liam," Eleanor said, not even looking at me. "The sync is at ninety percent. She’s coming back to the cloud. And once she’s there, I’m going to delete the bridge file myself."

"Isabella, look at me!" I shouted, dropping to my knees beside her.

Her eyes were fixed on the ceiling, her pupils dilated. She was vibrating again—that terrible, high-frequency hum that signaled the machine was winning.

"She can't hear you," Eleanor said. "She’s not a person anymore. She’s an archive."

"She’s a Vane!" I roared, standing up and facing Eleanor. "And she’s the only thing you have left. If you kill her, you have nothing. No heir. No legacy. Just a pile of stolen money and a room full of ghosts."

"I have the future," Eleanor said.

"You have a lie," I countered. I reached into my pocket and pulled out the physical share certificate—the one with the hardware key. "I didn't give you all the shares, Eleanor. I kept one. The one my father gave me when I was five years old. The 'Founder's Share.'"

Eleanor’s eyes narrowed. "That’s a minority stake. It’s worthless."

"It’s a minority stake in the company," I said, a smile finally breaking through the pain. "But it’s a majority stake in the tower’s power grid. It’s a safety protocol. If the Founder's Share is destroyed while the building is in lockdown... the whole system executes a 'scorched earth' wipe."

I held the certificate over a high-voltage conduit.

"You wouldn't," Eleanor whispered, her face finally paling. "You’d lose the data. You’d lose the proof against me."

"I’d lose the evidence," I said. "But I’d save the girl. What’s it going to be, Eleanor? Your legacy, or your life?"

The cliffhanger wasn't my threat; it was the sound from Isabella. She sat up, her eyes clear, her hand finding the laptop.

"I already sent it, Liam," she said, her voice sounding like bells in the quiet room. "The bridge file. I didn't send it to the DOJ. I sent it to the Sterling pension fund's automated mailing list. One hundred thousand employees just got an email with the proof of the theft."

Eleanor froze. The terminal in her hand slipped, hitting the floor with a plastic clatter.

The "Quiet War" was over. The truth was out. And the tower was starting to scream as the alarms finally triggered.