Chapter 8 - The Confrontation
Victor Whitmore turned slowly. When he recognized me, his cold blue eyes narrowed slightly, but his practiced politician's smile didn't falter for a single second.
"Claire," Victor said smoothly, stepping closer to block me from the view of the Mayor and the police chief. "You're late. We were beginning to think you and your daughter had lost your way."
Cole arrived at his father's side, his knuckles white as he clenched his hands into fists. "Where is she?" Cole hissed under his breath, his voice laced with poison. "Where is Emma?"
"She's somewhere you will never touch her again, Cole," I said, taking a slow sip of my champagne, my voice ice cold.
Victor let out a soft, amused chuckle. "Claire, you are out of your depth. Look around you. These people are my friends. The police chief standing twenty feet away is holding a warrant for your son's arrest. If you make a scene here, you will leave this room in handcuffs, and Luke will spend his night in a cell where my people have total access."
"You think you own everything, don't you, Victor?" I asked, stepping right into his personal space, ignoring Cole's threatening presence. "You think because you have billions of dollars, you can buy my daughter's body, use my son as a sacrificial lamb, and treat human beings like disposable assets."
"I don't think it, Mrs. Bennett," Victor whispered, his smile vanishing entirely, replaced by the terrifying face of a predator. "I know it. Power isn't about right or wrong. It's about control. And right now, I control your family's air."
Meanwhile, forty floors above us in the private penthouse suite, Luke slipped through the service door using a forged keycard provided by Park.
The penthouse was quiet, dimly lit by the city lights shining through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Luke moved swiftly past the plush velvet couches toward the master study at the back of the suite.
He stood before a massive oil painting depicting the Whitmore family crest. With trembling fingers, Luke reached behind the canvas, pressing a hidden latch.
The painting swung open with a soft click, revealing a heavy digital safe embedded in the concrete wall.
Luke pulled out his phone, opening the camera feed connected to Park's tablet.
"I'm at the safe, Agent Park," Luke whispered into his collar mic. "Entering the code now: 8-4-9-1-7-2."
The safe screen beeped green. The heavy steel door swung inward.
Inside sat stacks of foreign currency, three passports with fake names bearing Victor's photograph, and resting on a black velvet pedestal—a sleek, silver encrypted USB drive with an illuminated biometric scanner.
The Ghost Drive.
Luke reached inside, his heart pounding in his throat, and grabbed the drive.
"I got it!" Luke gasped into the mic. "I have the Ghost Drive!"
Suddenly, a cold metal cylinder pressed firmly against the back of Luke's neck.
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"Drop it, kid," a low voice growled from the darkness behind him.
It was Victor's chief of security—the broad-shouldered man who had led the raid on the warehouse.
