Chapter 48 - THE ARCHITECT’S PROTOCOL
"There is no override," Nicholas said.
Evelyn’s smile vanished. The lines around her mouth hardened into steel. "Do not play games with me, Nicholas. Arthur Bell was a brilliant man, but he was sentimental. He loved you like a son. He would never have locked the foundation trust without giving you the master override."
"He did give me the override," Nicholas replied, stepping forward until the muzzle of his Kimber was less than six feet from Evelyn’s forehead. "He gave it to me four years ago, disguised as a power of attorney for the family estate. But Arthur knew you, Evelyn. Better than Victor ever did."
Victor groaned from the threshold, sliding down against the steel door jamb until he was sitting on the polished floor, his head slumped between his knees. "She poisoned him," the old man mumbled into his bloody sleeves. "Arthur didn't die of a stroke. She slipped thallium into his tea for six months... just like she tried with me in ninety-eight."
Evelyn didn't even look at Victor. "Arthur died of a heart condition, Victor. A condition brought on by his inability to make difficult choices. Just like Nicholas."
"Arthur's override requires two signatures," Nicholas said, his eyes never blinking. "Mine... and the living child’s biological presence. Not a vial of blood. Not a harvested tissue sample. The scanner reads retinal circulation and core pulse resonance. If Lucy’s heart stops, or if she is under chemical sedation, the entire trust liquidates and disperses into blind charities across sub-Saharan Africa. You walk away with nothing."
Isabella’s breath hitched. "Nicholas... you're lying. Arthur wouldn't have burned seventy billion dollars."
"Try me," Nicholas said. "Push the button in your pocket, Isabella. Detonate the thermite. Turn this bunker into a furnace. Victor dies, you die, Evelyn dies, and I die. And Lucy Santos wakes up tomorrow morning at St. Jude’s under the legal guardianship of the federal court, with enough trust funding to live in anonymity for the rest of her life."
For three agonizing seconds, the only sound in the vault was the hum of the ventilation scrubbers.
Evelyn lowered her pistol slightly, but her eyes narrowed into predatory slits. "You think you're noble, Nicholas. You think that sitting behind that mahogany desk, refusing to touch narcotics and keeping your hands clean of prostitution, makes you different from your father. But you're a Caruso. You survive. You didn't come down to this vault to die."
"I came down here to see who was pulling the strings," Nicholas said. "Now I see. A ghost who should have stayed in the lake."
Suddenly, Victor moved.
Despite his shattered shoulder, despite the blood loss and exhaustion, the old mafia boss lunged forward with the tire iron clutched in his right hand. He didn't aim for Evelyn. He aimed for Isabella’s pocket.
"No!" Isabella screamed.
Victor swung the iron bar with a desperate, wild fury, striking Isabella across the forearm. The sharp crack of bone echoed through the vault, accompanied by a sickening crunch. Isabella fell backward against the glass console, her fingers losing their grip on the transmitter.
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The small black device bounced across the polished floor, skidding toward the edge of the master terminal.
Before Nicholas could react, Evelyn’s suppressed Sig Sauer coughed twice.
