Chapter 8 - Deep in the Vault
The subterranean level of the Federal Reserve was silent, stark, and cold. White fluorescent lights hummed above concrete corridors lined with heavy steel doors.
Using my father's master access key code—translated from the journal—I bypassed the biometric keypads, my fingers flying across the digital interface. The light turned from red to green with a satisfying beep.
I entered the central server room, the air freezing and smelling of ozone. In the center of the room sat the master terminal, a sleek, black console connected directly to the underground vault network.
I plugged the optical lens into the scanner, uploading the decrypted data from the journal.
Percentages scrolled across the screen at dizzying speeds. Names, bank accounts, illegal shipping manifests, video evidence of assassinations—everything Constantine and his network had built over thirty years was being copied and prepared for broadcast to every major news outlet, federal agency, and international police organization in the world.
"Fascinating, isn't it?" a voice echoed from the doorway.
I spun around, my back slamming against the cold server rack.
Constantine Volkov stepped into the room, holding a silenced pistol aimed directly at my heart. Behind him stood two heavily armed mercenaries. His face was bruised, glass cuts stitched along his jaw from the night at The Sterling.
"Julian Reed's daughter," Constantine sneered, his yellowed teeth flashing in a cruel grin. "I should have known when I saw you pouring water. You have his arrogant eyes."
"You killed him," I said, my voice dripping with cold hatred, holding my ground.
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"He was weak," Constantine spat. "He thought he could use my code to save his little girl. He died screaming in a burning car in Geneva, Amelia. And now, you're going to finish his work for me, or I'm going to put a bullet through your pretty head."
"She won't be finishing anything for you," a deep voice boomed behind him.
