PART 2: THE RECKONING AT GREYSTONE
The glass door between us and the ballroom felt like a block of ice.
Inside, the Sterling empire was dissolving in real-time.
Guests were sprinting for the exits, tripping over their own gowns.
Julian slammed his fists against the reinforced glass.
"Elena! Open the door! Let us inside!"
"I can't, Julian," I said, my voice cracking for the first time.
"The system locked down the entire perimeter the moment the key was submerged."
"It thinks there’s a physical breach."
Victoria was on her knees now, staring through the glass at the red text scrolling across the ballroom screen.
Her perfect world was burning, and she couldn't even touch the ashes.
"My husband died for those files, Victoria," I said, looking down at her.
"You told everyone it was a heart attack."
"But I found his old medical records in Harlan Beck's office."
"He had no history of heart disease."
"He did, however, have trace amounts of potassium chloride in his system."
"The coroner you paid off forgot to destroy the secondary blood panel."
Victoria looked up, her eyes wild, her hair escaping its perfect pins.
"Your father was a thief!" she screamed through the wind.
"He stole those records from my husband's private safe!"
"He didn't steal them," I replied.
"He was hired to secure them."
"But when he saw what your family did to the families in the North End..."
"How you burned those tenements down to clear the land for your marina..."
"How three children died in those flames..."
"He couldn't just write the code and walk away."
Julian stopped pounding on the glass.
He turned slowly to his mother, his face completely hollow.
"Mother..." Julian’s voice was barely a whisper, but I could hear it through the gap in the frame.
"Is that true?"
"Did we... did this family do that?"
Victoria didn't answer her son.
She was watching the ballroom doors explode open.
Federal agents in windbreakers rushed into the mansion, weapons drawn.
They weren't local police. They didn't care about the Sterling name.
They grabbed Richard Sterling—Julian's father—right off the stage where he had been preparing to make a toast.
They slammed him against the marble pillars, his champagne glass shattering.
"Julian," I said softly, reaching out to touch his arm through his jacket.
"I am sorry."
"I didn't want you to find out this way."
"But our baby... our child is going to carry your last name."
"I refuse to let them inherit a name built on blood and ashes."
Julian looked at my stomach, then at the blood drying on my cheek.
The realization hit him like a physical blow.
He didn't look at his mother again.
He stepped back from the glass, away from Victoria, and stood by my side.
"How do we get out of here, Elena?" he asked, his voice shaking but firm.
"We wait for Thomas," I said.
The security guard, Thomas, pulled a manual override key from his belt.
He inserted it into the balcony frame, and the heavy door slid open with a groan.
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But as we stepped into the chaotic ballroom, a loud splash echoed from below.
Victoria had jumped from the balcony into the freezing reflecting pool.
