Chapter 7 - The Twelve O’Clock Drop
Down in the subterranean vault of the Brooklyn safehouse, the air was cool and smelled of copper and ozone.
Dante sat at the master control terminal, his fingers flying across the dual keyboards as he synchronized the micro SD card’s contents with every major news syndicate, federal regulatory agency, and financial watchdog in the country.
“Three… two… one,” Dante murmured, hitting the enter key with a definitive thump.
On the secondary monitor displaying live broadcast feeds of the Manhattan press conference, the transformation was instantaneous.
Celeste Voss was halfway through her speech about family values and corporate integrity when the giant LED screens behind her suddenly flickered black.
The bouncing blue cartoon duck flashed across the screen for half a second.
Then, the audio files began to play.
Arthur Voss’s voice—clear, undeniable, and damning—boomed through the auditorium sound system:
“Celeste is running illegal human trials on neuro-inhibitor compounds in our Queens facility… she staged my car accident on the Brooklyn Bridge…”
The auditorium erupted into absolute chaos. Reporters stood up shouting questions, flashbulbs blinded the cameras, and several board members seated in the front row physically stood up and walked out in sheer horror.
On stage, Celeste froze. The color drained completely from her face. She stared up at the giant screens, her lips parting in silent, horrified realization. She had lost.
Moments later, the heavy double doors of the auditorium swung open.
Not reporters. Not paparazzi.
Federal marshals in tactical gear, accompanied by New York State Police investigators, marched down the center aisle, holding an arrest warrant signed by a federal judge.
“Celeste Voss, you are under arrest for corporate fraud, involuntary manslaughter, and illegal human experimentation,” the lead marshal announced, slapping steel handcuffs onto the billionaire CEO’s wrists as she screamed in protest and thrashed against their grip.
In the Brooklyn safehouse, Ivy and Esme watched the live feed on the monitor.
Neither of them cheered. Neither of them cried.
They simply watched as the woman who had imprisoned them in wheelchairs for four years, who had murdered their father and tried to erase their lives, was dragged out of her own boardroom in handcuffs while millions of people watched.
Esme turned her head, looking over at Dante.
“Is it over?” Esme asked softly.
May you like
Dante turned his chair around, looking at the two young women who had endured more darkness in eleven years than most people saw in a lifetime.
“It’s not over,” Dante said, standing up and walking over to them. He placed a heavy, reassuring hand on each of their shoulders. “It’s just beginning. Your father left his entire estate, his patents, and the Voss Bio-Tech restructuring rights in a trust split equally between Ivy Voss and Esme Voss. You aren't victims anymore, girls. You’re the majority shareholders.”
