Steven Cohen was not a man who knelt. For decades, he'd operated from
the shadows, a phantom hand guiding fortunes and ruining lives. But now, the
light was searing through every crack. The leaked scandal hadn't just
humiliated Arthur and Vivian; it had painted a target on every clandestine
operation Steven had ever run. Kore Tech's shell companies, already trembling
under Silas's digital assault, were now being dissected by financial regulators
with subpoenas and public outrage on their side. His empire of secrets was not
just exposed; it was being dismantled brick by brick in the glaring spotlight
he'd always avoided.
He stood in a nondescript safe house, watching the news cycles churn his
family's disgrace into fodder. His son—his son—had publicly renounced them. His
brother's perfect world was ashes. And his grandchild, the only pure thing to
come from his poisoned bloodline, was now the subject of global gossip and
legal speculation. The fury was a white-hot coil in his chest, burning away the
last vestiges of strategic patience.
They had taken everything. Arthur had taken Elora, then Julian. Vivian
had tried to pervert his lineage. Elara Thorne and her mercenary were digging
up every grave. And Julian… Julian had chosen them.
A phone lay on the table before him—a sterile, encrypted line. For
years, it had connected him to useful monsters like Robert Hayes. Today, it
would connect him to a different kind of asset. He picked it up and dialled a
number memorised decades ago, a number belonging to a man who asked no
questions if the price silenced his own.
"The situation has changed," Steven said, his voice devoid of its usual
sardonic polish, stripped to bare, brutal intent. "The containment strategy has
failed. We move to eradication."
He listened to the brief, grunted acknowledgments on the other end. Then
he outlined his plan. It was not subtle. It was not a shadow play. It was a
direct, brutal strike designed to seize the one thing left that mattered and
scorch the earth around it.
"Primary objective: extraction and secure transfer of the asset at the
Swiss location. No witnesses. No trace. Secondary objective: simultaneous
pressure application on the Thorne core. Maximum disruption. Force them to
choose between fighting for their future or digging up the past."
He ended the call. The machinery of ruin was now in motion.
His next call was to a private line at Aeterna Tower. He didn't expect
an answer, and he didn't get one. He left a voicemail, his voice chillingly
calm.
"Elara. You wanted the truth. You'll have it. By tonight, every one of
your mother's journals will be in the hands of every major news outlet. The
world will know Evelyn Thorne was a willing accomplice to kidnapping and fraud,
a woman who sold her conscience for family comfort. Your 'ethical' empire will
be built on her guilt. But that's just the backdrop."
He paused, letting the threat hang in the digital silence. "The main
event is happening elsewhere. You took my son. You turned him against his
blood. So I'm taking something of yours. Or rather, I'm taking something of
his. You have until nightfall to publicly renounce all claims against the Cohen
family, withdraw all legal actions, and send Julian back to me. If you do, the
journals stay buried, and the asset in Switzerland remains… undisturbed. If you
don't, I burn your mother's memory to the ground, and I take what's mine. The
clock starts now."
He hung up. The ultimatum was a feint, a distraction. He had no
intention of leaving the child in that clinic, regardless of Elara's choice.
The journals were a weapon of mass distraction, meant to tie up Silas and Elara
in a frantic defence of Aeterna's crumbling reputation while his team moved on
the Alps.
But Steven also knew that cornered enemies were unpredictable. He needed
insurance.
From a locked case, he retrieved a final, ancient ledger—not the digital
one Robert had kept, but a physical, leather-bound book started by his own
father. It contained the first sins, the original blackmail that built the
fortune. He photographed a single, yellowed page. It detailed a long-ago
transaction: a substantial, undocumented loan from Cohen senior to Elara's
grandfather, a loan that had saved the Thorne family from ruin and had never
been legally repaid, creating a debt of honour and silence that had trickled
down through the generations. It was the reason Evelyn had felt compelled to
sign the witness form. The original chain of coercion.
He sent the image to Silas Thorne's most private email, with a one-line
message: The root of the poison. She fights for a legacy built on my family's
charity. Tell her to stand down, or I will show the world this, too.
His moves were made. He had attacked Elara's legacy, her mother, and her
company. He had threatened the child. And he had revealed a foundational truth
designed to shatter her moral high ground.
Now, he moved to the window, looking out at a city that was no longer
his to manipulate. The ghost was stepping into the light, not to negotiate, but
to claim and destroy. The careful puppeteer had become a berserker, swinging a
wrecking ball at the entire tangled structure of lies, alliances, and
vendettas.
In Zurich, a team of four highly specialised, deniable operatives began
final checks on their equipment. Their extraction plan was swift and clinical.
At Aeterna Tower, Ben's security systems would soon light up with the first
wave of the counter-assault—a sophisticated, distributed digital attack
designed to cripple their communications and freeze their assets.
Steven Cohen, facing total ruin, was no longer hiding. He was unleashing
every weapon, every secret, every ounce of his ruthless will in one final,
catastrophic play. He would either reclaim his legacy and his bloodline, or he
would pull the entire temple down on top of everyone. The shadows had
dissolved. All that was left was fire.