Chapter 20 - The Iron gates of Cologny
The morning mist rose off Lake Geneva like steam from an ice bath as our convoy rolled past the wrought-iron gates of the Saint-Germain estate in Cologny. Massive stone walls lined with ancient yew trees shielded the compound from prying eyes, projecting centuries of untouchable aristocratic power.
Marcus sat beside me, dressed in an impeccably tailored charcoal suit, checking the miniature audio transmitter hidden inside his lapel pin. "Swiss federal tactical units are staged five hundred meters down the private access road. The moment we transmit the confirmation code, they breach the perimeter."
"They won't need to breach if Sebastian Saint-Germain realizes the trap he’s walked into," I murmured, smoothing down the front of my cream cashmere coat.
The car stopped before a grand stone portico. Four armed private guards in dark suits stepped forward, their faces expressionless, and opened the doors. We were escorted through towering double doors into an ornate grand salon featuring gilded baroque ceilings, Renaissance oil paintings, and towering arched windows overlooking the lake.
Standing by the grand fireplace was an elderly man with a silver cane—Sebastian Saint-Germain. His face bore the sharp, aristocratic contours of the portrait in my mother's journal, but his eyes were clouded with calculating malice.
And standing next to him, holding a crystal glass of whiskey, was Julian Croft.
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Julian looked haggard, a purplish bruise visible along his jawline from his violent escape, but his eyes gleamed with triumphant cruelty when he saw me. "Elena," he smirked, his gaze drifting over my short, elegant haircut. "I see you didn't grow your hair back yet. Pity. You always looked so plain when you tried to act strong."
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