"The land," I whisper.
"The land," he agrees. "Your mother... she was a fool. She tied the rights to you. To her 'precious little prodigy'. I couldn't sell. I couldn't mine. I was sitting on billions, and I couldn't touch a dime because you were... what? Playing Mozart?"
He sneers. "I needed you incompetent. I needed you insane. That was the first plan. Lobotomy. Conservatorship. Simple."
He looks at Alaric. "But you... you interfered. You took her. You hid her. You made her... difficult."
"I made her strong," Alaric corrects.
"You made her a liability!" Charles shouts, his composure cracking for a second. "So I had to adapt. I had to die. If I died, the Trust transferred to the executor. But the lawyers... they said the transfer was blocked as long as Elodie was missing. They needed a death certificate for her too."
"So you hired the Syndicate," Alaric deduces. "You became the Chairman."
"Iboughtthe Syndicate," Charles says. "With the promise of the future profits. I became the Chairman because I was the only one with the vision."
He stops five feet away from me. He looks me up and down. At the red dress. At the knife holster visible through the slit. At the hardness in my eyes. "Look at you," he says with distaste. "Dressed like a whore. Armed like a thug. Is this what he turned you into? A killer?"
"Yes," I say. "He did."
"Pathetic. You were a pianist, Elodie. You had talent. Wasted."
"You hated my music!" I scream. The anger finally breaks through the shock. "You hated every note!"
"I hated that it distracted you!" he roars back. "I hated that you cared more about the keys than the family name! I did everything for you! I built this empire for you!"
"You sold me!" I step forward, my hands clenching into fists. "You paid a doctor to drug me! You paid Alaric to kill me! You sent men to hunt me in the snow with dogs!"
"Business," Charles says cold. "It was just business."
He sighs, regaining his calm. He takes a puff of his cigar. "But we can fix this. It’s not too late."
He walks back to his chair. He picks up a folder from the table. He holds it out. "Sign this."
"What is it?"
"A transfer of deed. You sign the land over to me. Voluntarily. In exchange..." He points to the door. "...I let you walk away. You and your pet doctor. I give you five million dollars. New identities. You can go to Fiji. Or hell. I don't care."
"And if I don't sign?"
"Then I detonate the yacht," he says. "We all die. And the Trust goes to your cousin in Zurich. He’s much more cooperative."
I look at the folder. I look at Alaric. Alaric is watching me. He isn't telling me what to do. He is letting me choose.The Director is silent. The Muse must speak.
I look at my father. The man who raised me. The man who sat in the front row. The man who poisoned my breakfast. He is a monster. A true monster. Alaric is a predator, yes. But Alaric has a code. Alaric loves something other than himself. My father loves nothing. He is a void.
"I have a counter-offer," I say.
Charles raises an eyebrow. "Oh? And what is that?"
"I don't sign," I say. "And you don't detonate the yacht."
"Why wouldn't I?"
"Because you're a coward," I say, stepping closer. "You faked your death because you were afraid of debt. You hired men to kill me because you were afraid to do it yourself. You are hiding on a boat in international waters because you are afraid of the consequences."
I stop inches from him. I can smell the vanilla cigar smoke. It makes me want to retch. "Suicide requires courage, Father. And you don't have any."
Charles's face twists. The mask of the sophisticated businessman falls away, revealing the petty, greedy tyrant beneath. "You think you know me?" he hisses. "I made you."
