His tone was smooth.
Mocking.
“Elena. You always did love dramatic entrances.”
My jaw tightened.
Then my father’s voice followed — colder, deeper, more calculated.
“Patience, daughter.”
The word daughter sounded like ownership.
Like entitlement.
“When you attempt to destroy a king, you observe his weaknesses first. You wait for opportunity. You exploit distance.”
My blood ran cold.
He continued calmly.
“Your husband left. We monitored the flight path. Greece called him home. That decision was predictable — and convenient. Ruslan Baranov controls power best when he is present. But power cannot protect territory from coordinated action when its ruler is absent.”
Harris chuckled lightly.
“We know he prefers to operate through fear. Fear works — until it’s removed from the equation.”
Vasquez added, voice steady and ruthless:
“This was never his territory by right. He overstayed because of you. As long as he stood here, attacking was suicide — too many loyal men, too much infrastructure. But remove the commander... compromise a few guards... secure insider access... and suddenly the fortress becomes vulnerable.”
My eyes narrowed.
“Who did you pay?”
Silence.
Then Harris laughed softly.
“You think we’d reveal that?”
The doors shook again — this time from something heavier.
Explosive reinforcement?
My pulse spiked.
Vasquez’s voice lowered.
“We gave you an option before this escalation three years ago.”
“Option?” I repeated.
“Yes.”
He stepped closer to the door.
Through the metal barrier, his shadow stretched across the hallway floor.
