Chapter 902
“Predictable,” Travis muttered.
“That’s why we kept you.” Julian leaned back. “Arthur thinks you’re a disgraced traitor. He thinks you’re desperate. He’s going to reach out to you.”
“Me?” Travis squeaked. “Why me?”
“Because you know where the bodies are buried. Or at least, where the fake ones are. When he calls, Travis, you answer. You tell him you want to reclaim your family’s legacy. You tell him you want Tate Corp back, and you’ll trade the encryption keys for it.”
“But those keys are fake,” Travis said.
Julian smiled tightly. “He doesn’t know that. We’re going to feed him poison, Travis — and he’s going to eat it until he chokes.”
At the beach house, Lucian sat in a wheelchair looking pale but alert. The sea air seemed to be doing him good.
“This is boring,” Lucian complained. “I should be out there.”
“You have a hole in your chest,” Alistair reminded him. “Stay put.”
𝖳𝗋𝘦n𝖽𝗂𝗻𝗀 𝗻𝗈𝗏𝗲l𝘴 оn 𝗀𝖺𝗅𝗇𝘰𝗏𝘦𝗹𝘀.𝘤𝗈𝘮
Dr. William — a man Alistair paid very well to ask no questions — walked in and gave a brief nod.
“It’s time,” Alistair said. “Release the statement.”
Dr. William pulled out his phone and typed a message to the press pool.
Update on Lucian Graves: Condition Critical. Organ failure imminent. Family has been notified.
“You’re killing me off?” Lucian raised an eyebrow.
“We need them to think the throne is empty,” Alistair said. “It will make them bold.”
Within an hour, the news broke.
LUCIAN GRAVES ON DEATHBED. ORACLE STOCK DIPS.
In his office, Arthur Sterling watched the broadcast and poured himself a scotch.
“Perfect,” he whispered. “The king is dead. Long live the king.”
His phone buzzed. The message came from an encrypted number. Sender ID: ARCHITECT_PROTOCOL.
Is the path clear?
Arthur typed back: Graves is finished. The girl trusts me. I have access. Proceed with Phase Two.
He took a slow sip of scotch, savoring it, then reached for his other phone and dialed Travis Tate.
“Hello, Travis,” Arthur purred. “I heard about your unfortunate departure. How would you like to reclaim your birthright? I can give you back the Tate Empire — for a small price.”
Skye sat in her office watching the sunset, her phone face-up on the desk. When the news alert about Lucian appeared, her stomach turned — even knowing it was a lie.
She looked out at the empty office floor. She felt it then, fully and without pretense: she was alone.
Liam was playing the villain. Alistair was playing the nursemaid. Julian was playing the exile.
She was the only one left on the stage.
“Okay,” she whispered to the empty room. “Let’s put on a show.”
She picked up her phone and called Arthur.
“Uncle,” she said, threading a tremor into her voice. “I just saw the news about Lucian. I… I don’t think I can do this. I’m scared.”