Chapter 13 - The Ghost of the Alps
The audio file attached to the encrypted packet began to play automatically through my terminal speakers. A deep, raspy, deliberate voice filled the silent office.
*"Hello, my dear niece,"* the voice murmured, a chilling familiarity echoing through the room. *"Did you really think the Harlow family tree only had two branches? Did you truly believe your father built this multi-billion-dollar empire entirely on his own genius?"
I froze, my hand hovering over the computer mouse. My heart hammered against my ribs. Victor Harlow. My father’s younger brother—the brilliant, ruthless co-founder of Harlow Industries who had supposedly perished in a fiery private plane crash in the Swiss Alps twenty-seven years ago.
The official company history stated that Victor had died without heirs, leaving my father sole ownership of the enterprise. But looking at the photograph on my monitor, and listening to the cold, calculated cadence of that voice, a horrifying realization began to take root.
The plane crash hadn't been an accident.
It had been an execution—or worse, a staged disappearance.
*"Your father likes to play the noble patriarch, doesn't he?"* the voice continued, chuckling darkly through the speakers. *"Protecting his little princess in her ivory tower while he hides the truth about how the foundation of Harlow Industries was actually poured. He didn't build this company, Claire. He stole it. From me."
The recording cut out abruptly, leaving only the hum of the air conditioning.
Without hesitation, I picked up my desk phone and punched my father’s direct private line. It rang twice before clicking open.
"Dad," I said, my voice sharp and urgent. "Where are you?"
"I'm at the estate study, Claire," Richard’s voice replied, sounding suddenly older, heavier, and profoundly weary. "Why? What's wrong? You sound... alarmed.
"Victor," I said the name like a curse word. "Victor is alive."
Silence stretched across the phone line—a heavy, suffocating silence that lasted several agonizing seconds. When my father spoke again, all the color had drained from his voice.
"How... how do you know that name?"
"Because he just sent an encrypted data packet to my terminal," I said, standing up and grabbing my blazer. "He has documents, photos, and recordings. He claims you stole the company from him. Dad, tell me the truth right now. What happened in the Alps twenty-seven years ago?"
"Don't look into this, Claire," Richard pleaded, his voice cracking with a raw, desperate fear I had never heard from him before. "Victor is a monster. He isn't some wronged sibling—he’s a criminal who tried to liquidate Harlow Industries to fund illegal weapons trafficking. I didn't steal the company from him; I saved it from him!"
"Well, your monster just came back from the dead, and he’s coming for everything we've built," I snapped, walking briskly toward the private elevator. "I'm coming home. Lock the study doors and don't let anyone in until I get there."
"Claire, wait—!"
I hung up, stormed out of the office, and hit the elevator button with a trembling hand.
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The war with Daniel Vance was child’s play. This was blood.
And the sins of the father were about to be visited upon the daughter.
