Chapter 7 - The Digital Noose
For six hours, the penthouse became a war room.
Claire Miller wasn't just an accountant; she was a hoarder of leverage. She had survived ten years in corporate development by never throwing away a single piece of paper that could save her neck.
While Lily slept curled up under a cashmere throw on Claire’s sofa, Claire and I sat at the dining table, bathed in the blue glow of three monitors.
“Here,” Claire said, her voice hoarse as she brought up an encrypted VoIP call log. “Derek didn't use his cell phone to coordinate with Marcus. He used an encrypted softphone program routed through a server in Panama. But he used my company credit card to pay for the host domain.”
She clicked a button.
A waveform appeared on the screen. A timestamp showed the call had taken place at 11:42 p.m. the night before the explosion.
Derek’s voice filled the room, crystalline, clear, and sickeningly calm:
*“The flight leaves at 10:05. I will leave the house by seven to make the airport run look realistic. Make sure the kitchen gas regulator is completely detached from the copper main before you set the spark coil. I want the whole structure leveled in under three minutes. Elena always sleeps in on Saturdays. She won’t even wake up.”*
Then Marcus’s gravelly voice replied:
*“What about the kid?”*
A second of silence followed on the recording. A heavy, indifferent second that sliced through my soul like a rusted blade.
*“She’s six, Marcus. If she survives, she talks. Don’t complicate it. Ten million clears us both. Make sure it looks like an accident.”*
I gripped the edge of the glass table so hard my fingers turned white.
Beside me, Claire covered her mouth, her eyes shining with tears of disgust. “He’s a monster. Elena, I swear to God, I didn't know. If I had known he was capable of this—”
“Save it,” I snapped, my voice shaking with cold fury. “Where is he now?”
Claire tapped a keystroke, accessing Derek’s live calendar and public relations feed.
“The local chamber of commerce is hosting a televised press briefing at 9:00 a.m. tomorrow morning at the civic center. Derek arranged it through his publicist. He’s going to make a formal public statement accepting the community’s condolences and launching the ‘Elena and Lily Vance Memorial Foundation.’”
“A foundation,” I spat, the word tasting like venom. “He’s already laundering the insurance payout before the bodies are even declared dead.”
“It gets worse,” Claire said, pointing to an email notification on her screen. “Mutual Benefit Life has already assigned an expedited adjuster to the file due to the high-profile media coverage. Derek is scheduled to sign the preliminary claims assessment right after the press conference.”
The pieces fell into place with terrifying perfection.
He was going to stand before the cameras, perform the role of the heartbroken hero, secure public sympathy, and sign the documents that would make him a multimillionaire—all while Marcus quietly hunted us through the alleys of the city.
“Claire,” I said, looking her directly in the eyes. “Can you override the feed on the presentation monitors at that civic center?”
Claire looked at the screens, then at Lily sleeping peacefully on the sofa. A dark, determined smile slowly spread across her face.
May you like
“I didn't just design Derek’s financial network, Elena,” she said quietly. “I set up the civic center’s media system for their annual gala last month. I still have remote administrator access to every digital projector in the auditorium.”
***
