Chapter 2 - The Digital Guillotine
One minute had passed,
and the first phase of Protocol 7 was already surging through the fiber-optic veins of the city.
Victor’s phone suddenly buzzed on the table,
vibrating with a violent,
insistent rhythm.
He grabbed it,
hoping for a lifeline,
but his face went pale as he read the notifications.
“What... what is this?”
he whispered,
his fingers trembling.
I took a sip of my water,
the glass cool against my palm.
“That would be the sound of your offshore accounts in the Cayman Islands being liquidated,”
I said,
watching him crumble.
“Followed closely by your holdings in Zurich,
and the shell companies you used to hide that stolen diamond collar.”
Lorraine let out a strangled gasp,
her hand flying to her throat.
“That’s impossible,”
she stammered,
her voice shaking.
“Those are private,
secure servers!”
I smiled,
a thin,
lethal expression that didn't reach my eyes.
“There is no such thing as a secure server to a woman who helped write the encryption protocols for the NSA.”
Victor began scrolling,
his eyes darting back and forth in a frantic,
animalistic panic.
“Everything is gone,”
he choked out,
looking at his mother.
“The bank,
the real estate holdings,
even the apartment in Paris.”
I leaned forward,
my shadow falling across his terrified face.
“Protocol 7 is not just about money,
Victor.”
“It is about the total erasure of a parasite.”
“As we speak,
your credit score has dropped to zero.”
“Your social security number has been flagged for high-level fraud.”
“Every lease you have signed is being terminated for breach of moral clauses.”
“By the time you leave this room,
you will not even have the legal right to a library card.”
He tried to stand,
but his legs seemed to have turned to water.
He sank back into his chair,
the expensive Italian suit suddenly looking like a shroud.
Emily watched him,
her tears drying as a cold realization dawned on her.
She looked at me,
the mother she thought she knew,
and saw a stranger with the power of a god.
“Mom,”
she whispered,
her voice filled with awe and a touch of fear.
“Who are you?”
I reached out,
taking her hand in mine,
her skin warm and soft compared to the cold steel of my intent.
“I am the person who should have done this five years ago,”
I replied softly.
“But I waited,
because I wanted you to see him for what he truly is.”
Victor’s phone went dead,
the screen displaying a single,
red icon:
A skull with a line through it.
The symbol of the organization I had once led.
He looked up at me,
his arrogance replaced by a raw,
primal terror.
“Please,”
he begged,
his voice cracking.
“We can talk about this,
we can make a deal.”
I checked the clock again.
May you like
One minute and thirty seconds remaining.
The execution was ahead of schedule.
