Chapter 7 - Crashing the Throne Room
The Whitmore Shareholder Gala was held at the Apex Tower, a glass fortress in the center of the financial district. It was an event designed to project power and stability. Charles Whitmore stood at the podium in front of hundreds of shareholders, politicians, and cameras, smiling his charismatic, fake smile. Victoria sat in the front row, wearing a glittering black gown, looking like royalty waiting for her crown.
"...and so, it is with great pride that I announce the transition of leadership. My daughter, Victoria, will officially take the mantle of..."
BOOM.
The massive oak double doors at the back of the auditorium blew open with such force that the heavy brass handles dented the walls. The security guards stationed at the entrance were already on the ground, groaning.
The room erupted into gasps and murmurs. Charles froze at the podium. Victoria stood up, her face draining of color.
Stepping through the smoke and shattered wood was Elias Cain. He wasn't wearing a bodyguard's suit. He wore tactical black, an assault rifle slung across his chest, his scarred face a mask of absolute wrath. He moved with the terrifying grace of an apex predator, stepping aside to make way for the true threat.
Clara walked in behind him.
She didn't wear ivory this time. She wore a tailored crimson pantsuit, a stark, bold contrast to the sea of black tuxedos. Her hair was pulled back sharply, and her brown eyes were cold fire. She walked down the center aisle, the crowd parting for her in terrified silence. Elias walked one step behind her right shoulder, daring anyone to move.
"Security! Stop them! Shoot him!" Charles screamed into the microphone, losing his mind.
Ten armed guards rushed down the aisles. Elias didn't even raise his rifle. He stepped forward, intercepted the first two with a brutal double-clothesline, disarmed the third, and threw him into the remaining group like a bowling ball. He drew a sidearm, aiming it directly at Charles's head. "Stand down," Elias roared, the sound echoing like thunder.
The remaining guards, knowing exactly who Elias Cain was and what he was capable of, dropped their weapons and backed away.
Clara didn't even break her stride. She walked straight up the steps to the stage. Charles backed away from the podium, sweating profusely.
"Clara..." Charles stammered. "You're making a mistake."
"The mistake was thinking I was weak," Clara said smoothly. She pulled a flash drive from her pocket and slammed it into the media port on the podium. She tapped a command on the touchscreen.
Instantly, the massive projector screen behind Charles lit up.
It wasn't a presentation. It was bank records. Offshore account numbers. Audio files of Charles ordering bribes. And, most damning of all, a digital trail of payments from Victoria's private account to the hitman who had murdered Clara's mother, along with the real will signed by their grandfather.
The silence in the auditorium was replaced by an explosive uproar. Flashbulbs went off rapidly. Journalists began shouting questions. Shareholders were screaming.
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Victoria lunged at the stage, screaming like a banshee. "It's fake! She's lying! She's a bastard!"
Clara looked down at her half-sister, her expression entirely devoid of pity. "Look at the screen, Victoria. You poured wine on me. I'm pouring gasoline on you."
