Chapter 2: The Stolen Millions
Christopher turned sharply to face Arthur Vance, his wet shirt clinging to his skin. "What do you mean, draining the accounts? Those are protected by a three-factor biometric security lock. Only I have the access codes."
Arthur wiped his forehead with a handkerchief, his hands trembling. "I don't know how, Christopher. But ten minutes ago, my office received a series of automated alerts. The primary offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands, the ones tied directly to the Pierce legacy trust, are being emptied. Over forty million dollars has already moved."
Christopher’s mind raced. He looked back at his mother, Estelle. She was standing on the staircase, a sudden, dark smile creeping onto her lips. The panic she had shown just seconds ago was completely gone.
"Don't look at me, Christopher," Estelle said smoothly, smoothing down her silk gown. "I don't have the biometric keys. You made sure of that when your father passed away."
"Then who has the keys?" Christopher muttered. He looked down at Emma, then his eyes went wide. "Juliette."
"Juliette is in the security holding room by the front gates," Yvette said quickly. "The guards are watching her until the police arrive."
"Then she must have a hidden device, or someone is working with her from the outside," Christopher said, his voice full of urgency. "Arthur, call the bank. Freeze the transfers immediately!"
"I tried!" Arthur shouted. "The bank says the transfers are being authorized using a legal power of attorney document that was uploaded to the system less than an hour ago. A document signed by... Emma."
Christopher stared at the lawyer as if he had lost his mind. "Emma is five years old! She can't sign a power of attorney!"
"The document uses her thumbprint, Christopher," Arthur said quietly, looking down at his briefcase. "The digital thumbprint match is 100% accurate. The system accepts it as a legal authorization from the primary heir."
Christopher felt a cold dread wash over him. He looked at Emma's small hands. Just an hour ago, Juliette had been taking care of Emma in the pool cabana. She had told Christopher she was taking Emma to do some finger-painting. It wasn't painting. She had used a digital scanner to steal the child's thumbprint while Christopher was in a business meeting.
"You knew about this," Christopher said, turning his fierce gaze back to his mother. "That's why you were so calm. You didn't just want Emma out of the way. You wanted her signature before she disappeared."
Estelle chuckled, walking back up a few steps, looking down at her son like a queen looking at a peasant. "Business is business, Christopher. Your father was an old fool. He left the entire fortune to a child born from a woman we didn't even know. Did you really think I would sit back and let a five-year-old girl inherit the empire I helped build for forty years?"
"Where is the money going, Estelle?" Christopher demanded, stepping toward the stairs.
"To a secure account that you will never find," Estelle said proudly. "By the time the police get here to question Juliette, the funds will be scattered through twelve different shell companies in Europe. You might have the mansion, Christopher, but without that money, the Pierce Group will default on its loans by Friday. You will be a king of an empty castle."
"Not if I stop Juliette first," Christopher said.
He turned to Yvette. "Take Emma upstairs to my private room. Lock the door. Do not let anyone in except me. Do you understand?"
"Yes, sir," Yvette said, immediately taking Emma’s hand and leading her away from the grand staircase.
Christopher looked at Arthur. "Come with me. We're going to the security room."
As Christopher and the lawyer rushed out of the grand front doors into the rainy night, Christopher’s phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out, his wet fingers sliding on the glass screen. It was an incoming call from an unknown, encrypted number.
He answered it, pressing the phone to his ear as he ran down the long gravel driveway toward the security gatehouse.
"Christopher," a deep, distorted voice said through the speaker. "If you want to see your forty million dollars again, you need to make a choice. And you have exactly ten minutes to decide."
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Christopher stopped running, his boots sinking into the wet gravel. "Who is this?"
"Let's just say I am an old friend of Rachel Monroe," the voice laughed. "And I know a secret about Emma that will make your mother’s little plot look like child's play."
