Chapter 4 - The Digital Ghost
Within ten minutes, the private penthouse security team had converged on Victoria’s sprawling walk-in closet. Julian stood in the center of the room, surrounded by rows of designer shoes, silk evening gowns, and custom jewelry cases, while two senior security technicians worked rapidly on a portable diagnostic console linked to the estate's central mainframe.
Victoria sat rigidly on a velvet ottoman, her hands tightly clasped in her lap, her eyes darting like a trapped animal's.
"Mr. Vance," the lead technician spoke up, his fingers flying across his keyboard. "We accessed the private security node hidden behind the smart-mirror in the master corridor. The camera covers the hallway leading directly to the nursery entrance."
Julian didn't look at Victoria. "Play it."
The technician hit a keystroke, and a high-definition video feed projected onto the smart-mirror's display screen.
The timestamp in the corner read 14:15:22—just twenty minutes before the baby flatlined. On screen, the hallway was quiet and dim. Then, the figure of Victoria appeared. She wasn't wearing her coat; she wore a silk bathrobe, her expression tense and calculating. She looked left and right down the empty corridor, ensuring the coast was clear.
In her hand, she clutched a small, clear medical syringe and the amber vial.
The video showed her quietly slipping the master keycard into the nursery door lock, sliding inside for precisely forty-five seconds, and emerging with a triumphant, sinister smirk playing on her lips.
The room dropped to absolute zero.
Julian’s face went completely blank—the terrifying expression of a predator whose prey had just crossed the final line. He slowly turned his head to look at Victoria. The silence in the walk-in closet was so heavy that the hum of the server racks sounded like a roaring jet engine.
"Is that you, Victoria?" Julian asked softly, his voice dangerously calm.
Victoria swallowed hard, her breath catching in her throat. She tried to force a laugh, but it sounded like dry parchment tearing. "J-Julian... Deepfake technology is everywhere these days. Anyone can hack a security feed... You know how enemies of Vance Industries love to—"
"Shut up," Julian interrupted, his voice cutting through her excuse like a circular saw. He turned back to the technician. "Check her laptop. Check her burner phones. I want every text message, every financial transaction, and every communication she’s had over the last six months."
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The technician nodded, plugging a thumb drive directly into a hidden port beneath the vanity. A progress bar flashed across the screen. After a tense thirty seconds, a folder labeled PROJECT_HEIR_TERMINATION popped up.
Victoria lunged forward like a striking viper, aiming for the laptop to smash it to pieces, but Clara anticipated the move. With a swift sweep of her leg, Clara tripped Victoria, sending the elegant blonde sprawling across the white carpet with a sharp cry of frustration and pain.
