Marcus's Fall

Eleanor stands frozen by the cocktail table, the silver of her hair catching the strobe-like flicker of the grainy surveillance video. Below her, the ballroom is a graveyard of movement. The technicians have abandoned their headsets, the florists are clutching their shears, and the silence is so heavy it feels like it might crack the gilded mirrors lining the walls.

"You’re lying," Eleanor says, her voice low, a jagged edge of desperation finally cutting through the regal modulation. "Marcus would never keep such a file. He’s a Vance. He knows the cost of a leak."

"He didn't keep it to leak it, Eleanor," I say, my voice steady through the massive speakers. "He kept it to own you. Just like you own Caleb. It was his insurance policy against his own mother."

She fumbles for the phone in her blazer pocket, her fingers trembling as she pulls it out. She doesn't look at the screen. She presses a speed-dial button, her eyes fixed on the media booth glass as if she can see me through the tint.

She holds the phone to her ear. I watch her face through the monitor—the expectation of rescue, the absolute certainty that Marcus will answer and make the world right again.

The seconds stretch. Five. Ten.

Eleanor pulls the phone away, staring at the screen. She presses the button again. I can hear the faint, repetitive chirp of a disconnected tone echoing through her headset, even from thirty feet up.

"Marcus?" she whispers, her voice finally breaking.

"He won't answer, Eleanor," I say, leaning into the mic. "I’ve already initiated the secondary sequence."

I tap a key on my laptop. A command prompt scrolls at the bottom of the sixty-foot screen, over the top of the bribe video. *DIRECTORY WIPE: VANCE & ASSOCIATES - MASTER SERVER.*

Eleanor gasps, the phone slipping from her hand and clattering onto the marble floor. She looks at the screen, at the lines of white text devouring her legal fortress in real-time.

"What have you done?" she shrieks, her composure finally shattering.

"I’ve managed the archive," I reply, my finger hovering over the final lockout. "I’ve moved the succession data. I’ve alerted the primary investments. And I’ve removed the bagman from the equation."

I watch the progress bar hit one hundred percent. The screen flickers to black for a heartbeat before displaying a single, glowing red icon: *ACCESS DENIED.*

"Marcus is currently locked out of his firm's servers, Eleanor. I wiped him."