Chapter 4 - The Handler's Confession
The revelation hit me like a physical blow. Chloe—the vapid, wine-sipping twenty-something who had counted the lashes while Julian beat me—was a high-ranking syndicate operative. We had let her walk out the front door.
“Lock down the borders!” my father barked into his radio. “I want Chloe intercepted before she leaves the state! Check all private airstrips!”
Four hours later, Vanguard mercenaries dragged Chloe into the bunker. She didn't look terrified like Julian. She looked infuriated. Her silk dress was torn, her designer heels missing, and her eyes burned with a cold, calculated fury.
She spat blood onto the concrete floor as they forced her into the chair opposite Julian.
“You’re dead, Marcus,” Chloe sneered, looking up at my father. “You think your money protects you? The Syndicate owns the ground you walk on.”
I walked up to her and delivered a stinging, open-handed slap across her face. Chloe’s head snapped to the side.
“I endured a year of abuse under the assumption you were just a pathetic gold-digger,” I said softly. “But knowing you orchestrated it? That makes this so much more satisfying.”
“Where is the Director?” my father demanded, stepping into her line of sight.
Chloe laughed, a chilling, hollow sound. “You really want to know? He’s hosting the global economic summit in Geneva next week. But you’ll never get to him. The moment I missed my check-in, a kill squad was dispatched to this estate. They’re already here.”
May you like
Suddenly, the bunker’s alarm sirens began to blare. Red emergency lights bathed the concrete walls in a sinister glow. The heavy steel door shuddered under the impact of a localized explosion from the upper levels.
She wasn't bluffing. The Syndicate had arrived.
