Chapter 2 - The Blackout
Inside the Sterling estate, the smooth jazz playing over the integrated surround-sound system abruptly cut out. A sharp, high-pitched static whine replaced the music for a fraction of a second before every smart screen, security monitor, and digital thermostat in the fourteen-room mansion went entirely black.
Julian lowered his bourbon glass, frowning. "What the hell? Marcus!" he shouted toward the kitchen, calling for his chief of security. "Did the backup generators trip?"
Before Marcus could emerge from the catering wing, the glass patio doors slid open, and County District Attorney Robert Hayes marched into the formal parlor. The D.A.’s face was flushed a dangerous shade of crimson, his smartphone gripped tightly in his hand as he stared at the screen in disbelief.
"Julian, what are you pulling?" Hayes barked, entirely ignoring the wealthy guests who were beginning to murmur in confusion. "My offshore account in the Caymans just threw an invalid routing error. I tried to log into my secure offshore vault, and the credentials have been wiped! The entire database is registering as non-existent!"
Julian scoffed, waving a dismissive hand. "Relax, Robert. It’s probably just a server maintenance glitch. Don't embarrass yourself in front of my guests over a technical delay."
"It is not a glitch, you arrogant fool!" Hayes hissed, stepping close enough that Julian could smell the scotch on his breath. "My encrypted drive didn't just fail—it initiated a remote wipe. Ten years of campaign finance logs, offshore transfers, and your private PAC contributions were just permanently deleted from my physical server! Someone breached us!"
Eleanor Sterling stepped forward, her silk drapery rustling as she glared at the D.A. "Keep your voice down, Robert! You are causing a scene. Julian’s cyber-security team is the best in the private sector."
"Is it?"
A tall, broad-shouldered man in a tailored suit—Marcus, the head of Julian’s private security detail—walked into the room. He wasn't holding his usual clipboard or earpiece; his hands were empty, and his face was pale as chalk.
May you like
"Sir," Marcus said, his voice cracking slightly as he looked at Julian. "I just got off the line with the night-shift supervisors at Sterling Global headquarters. The corporate firewalls didn't just breach—they evaporated. Every single algorithmic trading account tied to your name has been liquidated and frozen under a federal security flag. The bank is refusing to authorize even a ten-dollar ATM withdrawal."
Julian’s smirk vanished entirely. The glass of bourbon slipped from his fingers, shattering on the polished hardwood floor right where Clara’s blood still stained the baseboard.
