Chapter 106 – The Price of a Name
Location; Geneva, Switzerland – The Private Vaults of Banc Esoterique
Snow fell in slow, delicate spirals outside the high-security windows of the Banc Esoterique. Beneath the pristine charm of Geneva's winter, secrets older than nations were locked away in biometric vaults—accounts not merely of money, but of lineage, influence, and silent wars.
Damien's breath hung in the frigid air as he waited inside a circular, marble-walled chamber that hummed faintly with invisible security grids. Nora stood beside him, draped in a charcoal trench coat. Her sharp eyes never stopped scanning—observing, calculating.
"They traced the final transaction to here?" she asked.
Damien gave a curt nod. "A dormant family account under my grandmother's name. Last accessed during the Cold War. Activated two weeks ago."
A vault assistant arrived—a nervous man in gloves too big for his hands. He offered a biometric scanner and a vintage key.
Damien pressed his thumb. The mechanism whirred, then hissed open. Inside lay a single item: an obsidian folder etched with the emblem of House Voltaire—his maternal line, long believed extinct.
He pulled it free and flipped it open.
Nora's eyes widened.
Inside were photographs—grainy surveillance images, years apart, but unmistakable. The woman in the photos bore Damien's features: the high cheekbones, the stormy gaze.
His mother.
Alive. Operating under the alias "Sabine Orlov." Involved in cross-continent intelligence, financing coups, and listed in top-secret dossiers as a silent controller of weaponized AI development in the East.
Damien's hand clenched.
"She never left," he murmured. "She just changed the game."
Behind the folder was a secondary envelope sealed with red wax—his grandfather's crest. Nora broke it open carefully.
A handwritten note. Elegant. Sinister.
> "By the time you read this, you will have learned that blood is not only a tie—it is a weapon. I've left you a war, Damien. And I expect you to win."
Nora looked at him. "This goes deeper than Blackridge."
"Much deeper," Damien replied. "This is a generational architecture of control."
Suddenly, the walls vibrated. Alarms blared.
The vault's AI system kicked in.
"Unauthorized breach—Level 7 Override Detected," an automated voice warned.
Damien's fingers flew across the emergency console. "They're here. They traced the account."
Before the vault could seal, a gas canister rolled into the room—hissing white clouds that choked visibility.
"Move!" Nora shouted, shoving Damien behind a marble pillar.
Figures descended through the ceiling—silhouetted in black, laser rifles ready.
But Damien and Nora were ready.
He pulled two sidearms from his coat and returned fire with military precision. Nora ducked and countered with a flash-blade from her sleeve, striking down a figure who lunged too close.
"Cover me!" she shouted.
She lunged forward, grabbed the obsidian folder, and activated a thermal chip embedded in the casing. The documents turned digital, uploading to her retinal device.
Within ninety seconds, they were surrounded—but not outmatched.
Nora's hand tapped Damien's wrist once: "Plan Echo."
He nodded.
A hidden panel behind them opened. The vault's failsafe—a narrow escape chute leading to an underground tram.
They dove in.
As the hatch sealed, the vault behind them erupted into flames.
Below the bank, the tram shot forward into pitch-black tunnels—cutting under Geneva's cobblestone history.
Damien slumped into the seat, blood on his sleeve. "They're killing everyone tied to the Voltaire name."
Nora reached into her coat and pulled out a small drive. "Then we'll beat them with the truth. This… isn't just about revenge anymore."
He looked at her, eyes softening. "It never was."
Their fingers found each other's.
As the tram sped through forgotten depths, the storm above Geneva grew worse. And somewhere, in a silent room monitored from St. Petersburg, a man watched the escape on a flickering screen.
Archer Grey leaned forward.
"Let them run," he whispered. "The real strike begins at dawn."