Chapter 8 - The Red Light Confrontation
The heavy steel security door of the vault was ripped open before Adrian could put the silicone mask back on his face.
Marcus stood in the doorway, his chest heaving, his face red and sweat-slicked, holding a glass of scotch that was sloshing over his fingers. He had been looking at his phone upstairs when the corporate accounts flashed red. He stared into the crimson-lit room, his eyes scanning the desk, locking onto the black tablet plugged into his server, then moving to the open wall safe, and finally landing on Adrian’s real, unmasked face.
The confusion on Marcus’s face lasted for exactly three seconds before it exploded into a wild, feral rage. He dropped his scotch glass, the crystal smashing against the concrete floor, amber liquid and shards of glass flying into the red light.
"Who the hell are you?!" Marcus screamed, lunging into the room, his eyes darting to the silicone mask sitting on the glass desk. "What did you do to our network?! Where is Alden Vale?!"
Adrian didn't flinch. He stepped out from behind the desk, positioning his broad frame directly between Marcus and me. He stood at his full height, his dark hair messy, the scar through his eyebrow twisting into a dangerous, mocking angle as he looked down at my brother.
"Alden Vale never existed, Marcus," Adrian said, his real voice booming through the soundproofed vault with a terrifying, dominant power. "He was a ghost I created to buy your pride for ten million dollars. My name is Adrian Cross. My father was David Cross—the man you and your father murdered ten years ago to build this pathetic empire."
Marcus stopped dead in his tracks, the name—Adrian Cross—hitting him like a physical blow. His eyes widened, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water as his mind desperately tried to connect the frail, eighty-year-old man who had signed the checks to the son of the competitor they had crushed.
"Cross?" Marcus choked out, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. He looked at me, his finger pointing at my chest with an unstable, violent tremor. "You... you knew! You ungrateful bitch! You brought him into our house! You let him into our servers!"
"She didn't just let me in, Marcus," Adrian sneered, stepping forward, forcing Marcus to take an involuntary step back toward the shattered glass. "She gave me the keys. She gave me the wire transfer logs from October 2024. She gave me the safety reports you forged. Your ten million dollars didn't save your bank, Marcus—it triggered the automated state asset forfeiture protocol. Right now, your father is upstairs hosting a party with a mayor who is currently receiving a federal arrest warrant on his personal device."
"You're bluffing!" Marcus screamed, his voice cracking into a high-pitched, panicked shriek. He reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek, modern smartphone. He frantically tried to swipe the screen, but the display was locked with a massive, crimson emblem: ALL CORPORATE ASSETS FROZEN VIA STATE CIVIL RECOVERY ORDER.
"No, no, no!" Marcus sobbed, dropping the phone onto the floor. The reality of total, absolute destruction was finally breaking through his drug-fueled arrogance. He looked up at the wall safe, seeing the leather-bound folders clutched in Adrian’s hand. "Give me those deeds! Those are ours! You can't take this house!"
With a roar of pure, animalistic desperation, Marcus lunged at Adrian, his fingers clawing toward the folders.
But Adrian was a man who had spent ten years training his body for this exact physical resolution. He didn't even use the fire poker. He simply stepped inside Marcus’s wild swing, grabbed his lapels, and with a display of raw, explosive power, slammed Marcus backward against the rows of steel filing cabinets.
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The metal groaned under the impact, and Marcus collapsed onto his hands and knees, gasping for air, blood trickling from his nose where he had struck the drawer handle.
"It's over, Marcus," Adrian said, looking down at him with an icy, absolute detachment. He reached down, picked up the silicone mask from the desk, and tossed it onto my brother's bleeding back. "Keep the skin. You’re going to need a new face where you’re going."
