Chapter 181 - The Sovereign Tribunal
"I wouldn't celebrate just yet, Miss Ward," a familiar, chilling voice echoed from the shadowed gallery above the server floor.
A single spotlight clicked on from the upper observation mezzanine, blinding them.
Standing on the catwalk overlooking the terminal was not Lieutenant Governor Hayes, nor an army of IronClad mercenaries.
It was Victoria Sterling.
She was dressed in a pristine, tailored white trench coat, completely free of the terror and humiliation she had displayed at the banquet where this nightmare had begun. Behind her stood six snipers, their laser sights painting crimson dots over Vincent’s chest and Emma’s forehead.
"Victoria?" Vincent spat, his hand twitching toward his weapon.
"Did you really believe my mother was the head of the family, Vincent?" Victoria said, a mocking, elegant laugh echoing through the vaulted chamber. Her voice was devoid of the spoiled, bratty arrogance she had projected for years; it was razor-sharp, calculating, and chillingly sociopathic. "Helena was old. Soft. Sentimental about the past. She actually thought you could be controlled through business and debt."
Victoria walked slowly along the railing, looking down at them like insects in a display case.
"I orchestrated the entire dinner party, Vincent. I slapped that pathetic old woman in front of the press specifically to draw out your little hero complex. I knew Edward Ward’s granddaughter was working that room—I was the one who arranged her hiring through the catering agency."
Emma froze, a sick coldness flooding her veins. "You... you knew who I was?"
"Of course I did, darling," Victoria smiled, leaning her elbows against the brass railing. "The Sovereign protocol was dormant for forty years because it required both your blood and Vincent's to wake up the master system. Neither of you would ever have cooperated voluntarily. But push Vincent into a corner where he has to play the knight in shining armor? Threaten your life so he burns down the entire city to protect you? You two did all the heavy lifting for me. You surfaced the *Tartarus*. You breached the vault. You brought the keys right to my altar."
A series of loud hydraulic clanks echoed around the perimeter as Marcus Vance’s men suddenly raised their rifles—not at Victoria, but directly at the back of Vincent and Emma’s heads.
Vincent stiffened, looking at Vance with lethal disbelief. "Marcus... you?"
Vance didn't look Vincent in the eye. His face was grim, etched with cold resignation. "I'm sorry, Vincent. Arthur is dead. The old world is dead. Miss Sterling offered guarantees for our families that your dying empire never could."
"The countdown is at ten seconds," Victoria purred, pulling a sleek, customized tablet from her coat. "The moment that broadcast transmits, the Sovereign algorithm won't expose me. It will automatically upload a digital signature proving that Vincent Moretti and Emma Ward orchestrated the greatest cyber-terrorist attack in human history, wiping out the national banking network."
On the master terminal, the numbers turned red:
**00:05... 00:04... 00:03...**
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"Kill them both," Victoria ordered, turning her back to walk toward the exit. "Leave the bodies on the console. Chicago belongs to me now."
Vance’s finger tightened on the trigger against Vincent’s temple, while two snipers aligned their crosshairs directly between Emma’s eyes—as the terminal screen suddenly flashed black with a single, horrifying word that no one in the room expected.
