"The jet," Alex decided, gripping Sonia's hand as he pulled her toward the aircraft stairs. The approaching helicopters left no time for extended explanations—action now, truth later. Stephens provided covering position as they raced across the tarmac, the Rodriguez security chief's loyalty apparently remaining with Alex despite the fractured allegiances surrounding them. "What happens when all three implants synchronize?" Alex demanded as they reached the jet's cabin, the engines already at full thrust. Sonia's expression shifted—vulnerability and resolution battling across features he'd come to read with painful clarity. "It's not just data storage, Alex. The algorithm isn't just code—it's evolving. The implants are neural interfaces designed to merge human intuition with financial prediction systems." The jet lurched forward before Alex could process this revelation, acceleration pressing them into their seats as the pilot executed an emergency takeoff protocol. Through the
Alex moved with such fluid precision that the choice seemed predestined—his body deciding before his mind fully processed the consequences. He pulled Sonia toward the narrowing gap beneath the descending security barrier while simultaneously shoving the archive device Eliana had dropped into his jacket pocket. "Go!" he commanded, lifting Sonia to slide beneath the barrier before following in one practiced motion. James caught his eye through the diminishing space—his brother's expression communicating volumes in microseconds. This wasn't betrayal; it was coordination. James would remain with Carlos, maintaining access from the inside while Alex secured the archive. The barrier sealed with pneumatic finality, separating them from the vault. Through the reinforced glass panel in the barrier, Alex witnessed the tableau frozen in red emergency light: Carlos straightening his immaculate suit, unruffled despite the chaos; Franco restrained by the security personnel; Eliana standing de
The elevator plunged deeper than any standard banking floor should exist, the digital indicator bypassing the conventional basement levels before stopping at "S-3"—a designation Alex had never encountered in any of Rodriguez Holdings' Swiss operations. "Security sublevel three," Franco explained, noting Alex's focus on the display. "Officially, it doesn't exist." "Like you," Sonia murmured, the hurt in her voice partially masked by determination. Alex's phone vibrated again in his pocket—James attempting follow-up contact. The warning echoed in his mind: TRUST NO ONE. Yet here he stood, surrounded by resurrected ghosts and unverified claims, with only his instincts and Sonia's presence as constants. "Aram will remain here to secure our exit," Eliana instructed as the doors slid open to reveal a sterile corridor of brushed steel and recessed lighting. "We have twelve minutes before the security protocols reset." The corridor terminated at a vault door that seemed transplanted
The helicopter cut through clouds that hung like omens over the Alpine landscape, each mile carrying them deeper into a labyrinth of long-buried truths. Alex studied Eliana's face, searching for traces of Sonia in her features—the same determined set of her jaw, the calculating intelligence behind eyes that revealed nothing unintentionally. "Renovation," Sonia repeated her mother's word, fingers intertwined with Alex's in a grip that betrayed her tension. "You mean destruction." The corner of Eliana's mouth lifted in what might have been approval. "Perspective is everything in our world, isn't it?" Her attention shifted to Alex. "Your father was brilliant at recognizing opportunities others considered catastrophes." "The banking crisis of '94," Alex said, pieces clicking into place with the precision that had made him Carlos Rodriguez's heir apparent. "Everyone said it was miraculous how Rodriguez Holdings emerged stronger while competitors collapsed." "Miraculous," Eliana ech
Eliana Martinez stood like a specter from another time, her presence electrifying the clearing with unspoken history. Alex felt Sonia stiffen in his arms, her breath catching as though the very air had turned to glass. The woman before them—flawlessly dressed in a tailored charcoal suit that whispered of Swiss precision—seemed to absorb the chaos around them, replacing it with something far more dangerous: calculated intent. "Mother?" The word fell from Sonia's lips like a prayer and an accusation fused together. "You're... dead." Eliana's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Death can be a useful tool when necessary, darling." Her gaze shifted to Geneva, hardening into something ancient and unforgiving. "Some people understand that better than others." Geneva's composure—a legendary trait in boardrooms across three continents—fractured just enough to reveal something Alex had never witnessed before: absolute, unfiltered shock. "Eliana," Geneva breathed, her hand instinctively moving
Sonia's body convulsed as the implant's destabilization protocol ripped through her neural pathways. Alex caught her, his photographic memory capturing every microscopic detail of her deterioration—the way her pupils dilated, the precise tremor in her left hand, the near-imperceptible pulse at her temple. Years of corporate training had taught him to analyze every detail, but nothing prepared him for the raw vulnerability of the woman in his arms. "The archive," she gasped, blood trickling from her nose, "James can't have it. Not all of it." Around them, the clearing dissolved into controlled chaos. James's mercenaries struggled with communication interference, their tactical gear suddenly useless against whatever electronic disruption Sonia's implant was generating. Geneva stood motionless, her calculating gaze fixed on Sonia with an intensity that suggested more than mere corporate interest—this was personal in a way Alex had never understood. The Rodriguez family had always b