The mahogany desk was immaculate, save for the single, heavy leather-bound journal that sat before Evelyn.

Inside the vault, rows of iron filing cabinets stretched into infinite darkness. Victoria walked directly to the section marked 1920–1929, pulling open a heavy drawer labeled S. She extracted a thick leather folder tied with dried sinew—Julian Sterling’s original file.

She spread the brittle yellow parchment over a stone inspection table. There, at the very bottom, beneath Julian’s flamboyant signature, was a secondary clause written in microscopic, invisible ink that only revealed itself under the glow of Victoria's silver stylus.

"Look here," Victoria pointed. "He didn't just bind his soul. He pledged a collateral exchange with a corporate entity: The Sterling Vanguard Group, New York City."

Elena leaned in, her eyes widening. "That's my father’s hedge fund. It’s located in a skyscraper in Midtown Manhattan. He’s been using the firm as an occult battery, trading corporate acquisitions for human lifespans."

"He has modernized the sin," Victoria said, her tone filled with cold disgust. For three hundred years, she had judged men who traded their souls for castles or good harvests. But this—a corporate machine designed to harvest lives at scale—was an abomination that threatened the very fabric of the cosmic balance.

She closed the folder and looked up at the ceiling of the vault, where the faint sound of thunder echoed. "The Manor cannot reach him in Manhattan while the shadow trust shields his location. If we are to balance this ledger, I must do something I have not done since 1888."