The coordinates on the flash drive led them to Sankt Moritz, high in the Swiss Alps—a place where the old money came to vanish under the guise of vacation.
But Vivienne wasn't here to ski.
She stood at the edge of the snow-covered slope, wind tugging at her coat, staring down at the estate below. Lights flickered behind frost-streaked glass. Armed guards patrolled the perimeter in silence. Beneath the surface, vaults of information and blood money rested like sleeping serpents.
"This is House Volkner," Julien murmured beside her. "Henrik was the first to sign the Pact. And the most ruthless."
"Volkner traffics in children," Vivienne said flatly. "And black-market organs."
Julien nodded. "He's untouchable. His family helped fund post-war Europe. Governments owe him favors they'll never repay."
She turned to Damien, who checked the blueprints again.
"There's a tunnel," he said. "Maintenance shaft, northwest corner. If we time it with the patrol change—"
"We go in," Vivienne finished, "and burn them from the inside."
---
They moved like shadows through the snow.
Julien disabled the surveillance with silent fingers. Damien took out the two perimeter guards with cold precision. Vivienne led them down the maintenance shaft, heart steady, every movement a quiet declaration of war.
Inside, the walls were steel-lined and sterile. More bunker than mansion.
Vivienne spotted the Volkner crest—an eagle with outstretched wings—on each door they passed. She felt like a ghost moving through the belly of a monster.
In the control room, Julien cracked the terminal in under four minutes. He whistled low.
"Accounts. Ledgers. Transfer codes. Names of buyers, suppliers, allies. This isn't just corruption. This is civilizational rot."
Vivienne didn't hesitate.
"Download it all."
Damien handed her the thermite charges.
"We plant these in the vaults," he said. "Once we're out, boom. Data survives. Empire doesn't."
She nodded.
But just as they turned down the hallway to the lower vaults—
A voice echoed through the intercom system.
Low. Amused. Icy.
"Vivienne D'Aragon. I was wondering when you'd crawl out of your father's shadow."
Henrik Volkner.
Vivienne stopped in her tracks.
Cameras flickered to life. One showed a man in a long dark coat sitting beside a roaring fire, wine glass in hand, eyes glinting silver like a wolf's.
"I suppose I should thank you," he continued. "You've saved me the trouble of hunting down my enemies. Now you're all here. And my men are surrounding the compound."
Julien cursed under his breath.
Damien pulled Vivienne into a storage alcove.
"We're not escaping the way we came," he said. "Plan B?"
Vivienne nodded. "The greenhouse. West side. It's glass. Fragile."
Julien tapped the download bar—92%.
"Buy me sixty seconds."
Vivienne stepped out, face to the nearest camera.
"You're right, Henrik. I did crawl out of his shadow. And now I'm standing where he should've. If you think you can silence me the way you did him—"
She raised the gun and shot the camera dead.
"Come and try."
---
They ran.
Gunfire lit the halls like lightning.
Julien slipped the drive into her pocket as Damien covered their flank, precise and ruthless. The thermite was set to detonate in three minutes.
They burst through the greenhouse, shattering glass and crashing into snow.
An explosion rocked the night behind them—flames swallowing centuries of secrets and sins.
By the time Henrik's men reached the surface, the estate was already collapsing.
---
That night, in a safehouse miles away, Vivienne stared at the flash drive in her hand.
One house down.
Five to go.
But this one was personal.
Because Volkner had been the one to pull the trigger on her father.
She'd seen the proof on the terminal.
Vivienne turned to Damien.
"Tomorrow," she said, voice like steel beneath velvet. "We go after the next one."
He met her gaze.
"No turning back now."
"No," she said, eyes burning.
"Only forward. Through the ashes."