Chapter 17 - The Vault of Secrets
Federal agents escorted Alistair Thorne out of Highgate Manor in heavy handcuffs.
Reporters and news helicopters were already circling above the estate like vultures over a carcass.
The empire of lies was unraveling in real-time.
Marcus and I remained inside the private underground vault hidden beneath Alistair’s wine cellar.
The vault door, forged from solid hardened titanium, had taken the FBI safecrackers two hours to breach.
Inside sat shelves filled with labeled steel lockboxes, containing forty years of blackmail, covert contracts, and political bribes.
"Look at this, Julian," Marcus said, pulling a heavy black binder from the top shelf.
The cover read: *Project Lazarus.*
I opened the binder under the harsh fluorescent lights of the vault.
Inside were medical files, autopsy reports, and surveillance photographs.
The first photograph was of my father, Arthur Sterling, taken three days before he died.
The medical notes confirmed what Alistair had confessed: a slow-acting synthetic cardiac toxin, administered through his daily insulin.
I turned the page, my knuckles turning white.
The next section was labeled: *Target: Julian Sterling.*
There were dozens of photographs of me.
Pictures of me walking out of my penthouse, dining at restaurants, and getting into my sports car.
And then, I turned to the final section.
My heart stopped beating.
Pinned to the page was a photograph of a woman with auburn hair and laughing green eyes.
Elena.
My fiancée.
The woman who had been in the passenger seat of my car the night we were pushed off the cliff.
The woman the state police told me had died instantly on impact, her body swept away by the raging river below.
Beneath her photograph was not an autopsy report.
It was a monthly wire transfer authorization from Ares Holdings, dated two weeks ago.
And across the bottom of her file was a single word stamped in dark blue ink:
May you like
*ACTIVE.*
***
