Chapter 19 - The Predator's Ultimatum
Hearing Julian’s voice after everything that had happened sent a cold shudder down my spine, but I did not waver. I leaned over the table, keeping my breathing completely measured.
"You're a fugitive, Julian," I said evenly. "You broke federal custody in the United States. The moment you step into the public eye in Europe, Interpol will have a red notice on you."
Julian let out a harsh, rasping laugh. "Interpol? You sweet, naive idiot. Money doesn't just buy lawyers in Switzerland, Elena; it buys borders. Sebastian Saint-Germain has owned the canton magistrates for forty years. By noon tomorrow, my legal team will submit the proxy paperwork showing you signed over your mother's trust before our divorce was finalized."
"You don't have my signature, Julian."
"I have fourteen years of your signatures on joint tax returns, power of attorney documents, and property leases," Julian hissed, his tone turning venomous. "Our forensic document teams in Geneva can replicate your handwriting so flawlessly that even your dead mother wouldn't know the difference. You thought you won because you took Bell & Rose? Bell & Rose was pocket change, Elena! I spent fourteen years putting up with your pathetic, timid existence, pretending to love you while I slept with real women in five-star hotels! You owe me that trust!"
"I owe you nothing, Julian," I responded, my voice dropping to a whisper so sharp it cut through the line. "You cut off my hair because you wanted to see me beg. You wanted to make me feel small. But all you did was strip away the weakness that kept me bound to you. You are nothing more than a thief running on borrowed time."
"Meet me at the Saint-Germain private pavilion in Cologny tomorrow at ten," Julian barked, his patience snapping. "Bring the original bronze key from Laurent’s vault. If you don't, I will release every piece of manipulated media we manufactured over the last ten years. I will destroy your mother's reputation, Bell & Rose, and whatever sanity you have left."
The line went dead.
Marcus looked up at me, his eyes blazing with fury. "We don't meet him. We raid the Cologny estate with federal marshals."
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"No," I said, a dangerous calm washing over me. "We go. But we don't bring the key. We bring the end of the Saint-Germain syndicate."
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