They called it The Pinnacle.
Not a building. Not a network.
A family.
The Monarch Family wasn't listed on any Forbes chart. You wouldn't find them in Vanity Fair's "Top Old Money Dynasties." That was the point. The Monarchs owned the charts—and decided who got to appear on them.
When Kael Wexley began burning down syndicates, there was one name every data node whispered with caution: Cassian Monarch, heir to a fortune so old it predated Western central banking.
He was polished, pale, and frighteningly unreadable.
But more importantly… he was Kael's next target.
Thalia tossed a file onto the table inside their temporary hideout—a repurposed art gallery in Singapore, beneath a legitimate front owned by one of Kael's shell firms.
She flipped it open. "Cassian Monarch. Age 27. Half-Greek, half-British. Educated at King's College, then disappeared into private diplomacy circuits. He speaks eight languages and lies in nine."
Kael read through the documents, his jaw tight. "And he was present during the Wexley Acquisition."
Thalia nodded. "He signed the shadow accord. Alongside Blackline, EisenCorp, and Prime Venture."
"The Four Thieves," Kael muttered. "How poetic."
"He's the last," she said. "The most dangerous."
Kael looked up. "Then he dies the loudest."
Cassian Monarch didn't hide like Yuri Sato or throw lavish distraction like Marius Delacroix. He resided in an estate at the center of the Swiss Alps, surrounded by fifty kilometers of private land, guarded by ex-Mossad operators and autonomous drones.
Thalia placed a hand-drawn map on the table. "There are only three entry points. One is the sky. The second is the front gate—basically suicide. And the third is the underground passage that connects to the old Saint Benedikt Monastery."
Trix popped in on a holoscreen, chewing licorice. "I hacked the monastery's archives. There's a hidden route used during World War II. Narrow, freezing, but functional."
Kael studied the blueprints. "That's our way in."
"You sure you want to do this personally?" Thalia asked. "We could drone strike the estate and frame it on eco-terrorists."
"No," Kael said coldly. "He needs to look me in the eyes."
They moved at dawn.
Kael, Thalia, and a four-man ghost squad trekked through the snow-covered valley, descending into the mouth of the tunnel beneath the forgotten church. Wind screamed through the hollow arches above them, but Kael didn't flinch.
For fifteen hours, they moved through ice, crawling through darkness that hadn't seen light in seventy years.
Until they reached the door.
It wasn't a gate—it was a biometric vault disguised as a wine cellar entrance. Trix's voice came through the encrypted comms.
"Give me five minutes. It's using nerve-skin authentication… but I just found a workaround through one of Cassian's ex-bodyguards."
Moments later, with a click like the end of a war drum, the door opened.
And Kael stepped into the Monarch's nest.
Inside, the estate was absurdly quiet. Minimalist, sterile, and haunting. The architecture screamed precision and power—an empire's ego turned into stone.
Kael found Cassian in the study.
Dressed in a charcoal robe, sipping what looked like 100-year-old Cognac, Cassian turned without fear.
"So," he said with a faint smile. "The Wexley ghost emerges."
Kael didn't speak. He walked forward, every step a declaration.
"I wondered when you'd come," Cassian continued, his voice smooth as obsidian. "I expected flames and bombs. But you came yourself. That's what makes you dangerous."
"I'm not here to impress you."
"No. You're here for vengeance."
Kael stopped three feet from him. "You signed my father's execution."
Cassian nodded, as if recalling a minor tax filing. "Yes. And we paid dearly for it. Marius is broke. Yuri's files are public. Even Prime Venture's AI is infected with your little virus. Clever boy."
Kael's fists tightened.
"But you won't kill me here," Cassian said softly. "Because I'm not your enemy."
Kael raised a brow. "You poisoned my family's name."
"No," Cassian said. "They did. I signed the accord to save my family. But I know who ordered the Wexleys wiped out."
Kael didn't blink.
"You're lying."
Cassian sipped his drink again. "Your father knew something—something even the Syndicate feared. He was close to unlocking it."
"Unlocking what?"
Cassian stood.
And for the first time, Kael saw fear behind the mask.
"They call it Project Archon," he said. "And it didn't start with Wexley Enterprises. It started in Luxor. Ancient money. Buried weapons. Genetic blueprints stored in data vaults hidden under pyramids."
Kael scoffed. "You're stalling."
"No," Cassian said. "I'm offering you something no one else can."
He walked over to a drawer, pulled out a small drive, and tossed it to Kael.
"That's the real war. The one your father died for. You're fighting pawns, Kael. But there are kings buried deeper."
Kael hesitated.
But in that moment—his instincts flared.
Because he saw it. The faint twitch of Cassian's left eye.
A signal.
Kael whirled—just as three Monarch guards burst in, fully armed.
Cassian grinned. "You came for blood. But I came prepared."
What followed was a blitzkrieg.
Kael dove behind a marble pillar as gunfire ripped through the study. Thalia shouted through the comms, "Fallback route compromised! Secondary route through the west wing!"
Kael ducked, rolled, fired twice—headshot. Then sprinted into the hallways, the drive clutched in one hand.
More guards came—but Kael was faster. Smarter.
He used everything. Vases as traps. Wiring to short lights. A fire axe to break an armored glass.
He was a shadow with purpose.
And eventually, he found Cassian again—this time in the heliport chamber.
A chopper was already starting up.
Cassian turned, breathing hard. "Still think I'm lying?"
Kael didn't answer.
He shot the helicopter's fuel line.
The explosion was deafening.
Cassian stumbled. Kael walked toward him, eyes dark.
"I'm not your enemy," Cassian said, coughing.
"No," Kael said. "You're just the last liar in a dying order."
He raised the gun.
Cassian closed his eyes.
Kael paused.
Then turned the gun—fired twice into the surveillance systems.
And left.
Three hours later, as the estate burned, Kael stood alone on a cliff overlooking the Alps. The drive Cassian gave him pulsed in his palm.
He didn't trust it.
But he needed to know.
Back at the yacht, Trix cracked it open.
And the data was unlike anything Kael had seen.
Ancient DNA sequences. Cryptic files labeled "Gene Pharaoh." Coordinates to facilities hidden in Egypt, Bolivia, and deep-sea bunkers.
And at the heart of it all—an encrypted file labeled:
"ARCHON-OMEGA: WEXLEY'S VAULT"
Kael whispered:
"…Father, what did you uncover?"