Chapter 971
Arthur Sterling. Her uncle. The man who had smiled at her father’s funeral. A vulture in a bespoke suit, always waiting for something to die so he could pick the bones. He had slipped the noose again, likely with help from the Syndicate’s deep pockets.
The car screeched to a halt in front of the Oracle Holdings tower. The rain was coming down harder now, drumming against the roof. Skye didn’t wait for the driver. She shoved the door open and stepped out into the downpour.
“Skye, wait,” Liam called out, exiting behind her.
She didn’t stop. She pushed through the revolving doors. The security guards froze as they recognized her — or perhaps because she looked as though she had walked out of a war zone.
“Ms. Sterling,” one guard stammered, reaching for his radio. “We were told… Mr. Sterling said you were incapacitated.”
“Dead? Fugitive? Take your pick,” Skye said without slowing.
𝘋𝘪s𝗰𝗼𝘷𝘦𝗋 𝗇𝗲w s𝘁o𝗋і𝘦𝘴 on 𝘨𝖺𝗹𝗻𝘰𝗏e𝘭ѕ.𝖼𝘰𝗆
She marched to the elevator bank and slammed her palm against the button. Liam and Alistair flanked her, silent sentinels, creating a perimeter of menace that kept anyone from approaching.
The elevator ride to the top floor took forty seconds. It felt like forty years. Skye watched the numbers climb, her heart hammering — not from fear, but from anticipation.
The doors slid open. The reception area was too quiet. Skye walked past the empty desk and kicked open the double mahogany doors of the boardroom.
The sound was like a gunshot.
Twelve heads snapped toward the door. Arthur Sterling sat at the head of the table — her seat. He held a fountain pen poised over a thick stack of documents. He looked impeccable: silver hair coiffed, suit pressed. The ankle monitor beneath his trouser leg was the only sign of his precarious legal status, a detail he was undoubtedly concealing from the board.
The room suspended in silence. The only sounds were Skye’s breathing and the drip of rainwater from her coat onto the plush carpet.
“I heard someone was looking for me,” Skye said.
Her voice wasn’t loud, but it reached every corner of the room. She walked forward, wet boot soles squeaking against the floor, eyes locked on Arthur.
“Skye,” Arthur said. His smile faltered for a microsecond before he recovered. He set the pen down. “My dear. We were so worried. The reports said—”
“Save it,” Skye said.
She reached into the inside pocket of her coat. The board members flinched as though expecting a weapon.
She pulled out a crumpled, damp manila envelope and threw it onto the polished table. It slid across the surface and stopped inches from Arthur’s hand.
“Parker had time to decrypt a few things on the flight back,” Skye said. “Specifically, the bribe ledger you used to secure your bail. And a direct transfer from a shell company linked to the Administrator. You’re not just an embezzler, Arthur. You’re funding domestic terrorism.”
Arthur’s face went the color of ash. He stared at the envelope, his hand twitching.
“This is preposterous,” he sputtered, looking around the table for support. “She’s clearly unstable. Look at her. That raid on the Citadel—”
“Kept me busy,” Skye cut him off. “Cleaning up your mess.”
.