"Mercer was offered a fifteen percent equity stake in Kinh Thien's global pharmaceutical subsidiary," Victoria explained, handing Marcus the decrypted ledger. "He leaked your mother's medical records to Kinh Thien two months ago, allowing them to time the hostile takeover attempt to coincide precisely with her critical care phase."
Marcus looked down at the signature on the screen—the distinct, elegant script of the mentor who had sat at his dinner table, who had met his mother, and who had sworn to dedicate his life to healing humanity.
Greed had rotted the man from within.
"Where is Mercer now?" Marcus asked softly.
"He is currently inside our research facility in Zurich, attempting to download the master genomic sequence for the cellular therapy before our security lockdown takes full effect," Victoria replied.
Marcus set his glass down onto the table with a soft, decisive click. "Patch me through to his private terminal in Zurich. Direct video line."
"Connecting now," Victoria said, tapping her keyboard.
The massive wall display in the penthouse flickered to life, displaying the high-tech, stainless-steel interior of the Zurich research lab. Dr. Julian Mercer—a distinguished man in his early sixties with silver hair and wire-rimmed glasses—was frantically typing at a terminal, transferring data files to an encrypted drive. When the master display on his desk flashed red with Marcus's incoming signal, Mercer froze, his breath hitching in his throat.
Mercer looked up at the camera, his face pale, sweat trickling down his forehead.
"M-Marcus..." Mercer stammered, his voice trembling violently. "I... I was just securing the backup files for the board—"
"Save your breath, Julian," Marcus said smoothly, staring through the screen into the soul of the traitor. "The Zurich vault accounts have been decrypted. The Swiss Federal Police are currently standing outside your laboratory doors."
Mercer’s posture collapsed, his shoulders slumping as the heavy drive dropped from his trembling fingers onto the desk. "Marcus... please... you don't understand! Kinh Thien threatened my family! They promised me resources that Apex Horizon could never provide!"
"I gave you absolute freedom, Julian," Marcus said, his tone devoid of anger, replaced by an absolute, chilling finality. "I gave you billions to fund your research. I treated you as a father. And you sold my mother's life for fifteen percent of a corrupt empire."
"Marcus! Mercy! I beg you!" Mercer cried out, tears streaming down his face as heavy footsteps echoed outside his laboratory door.
"Mercy is a luxury reserved for those who retain their humanity," Marcus replied coldly. "You have none."
Marcus tapped the terminal screen, ending the transmission instantly. On the wall display, the feed went dark as the Zurich police breached the laboratory doors to arrest the disgraced scientist.
Marcus turned back toward the broad window, looking out over the endless, shimmering expanse of New York City. Victoria stood beside him, her loyalty unwavering.
"Sir Arthur Vance is bankrupt. Dr. Mercer is arrested. Harlem Tower is ours. And Kinh Thien's North American network has been completely destroyed," Victoria summarized, bowing her head. "What is our next course of action, Marcus?"
Marcus looked up at the clear, starry night sky, his mind reaching across eight thousand miles of ocean to the dark, rain-slicked streets of Hanoi, where Pham Hoang Kinh sat waiting in his fortress.
"The battle in New York is over, Victoria," Marcus Duong declared, his voice carrying the terrifying weight of an inevitable storm. "Prepare my private jet. Tomorrow, we return to Vietnam. It is time to tear down Kinh Thien Group from its very foundation."
CHAPTER 11: RETURN TO HANOI
The Gulfstream G650ER descended through a heavy blanket of charcoal clouds, its sleek wings slicing through the warm, humid air hanging over the Red River Delta. Below, the sprawling urban tapestry of Hanoi revealed itself—a chaotic, beautiful confluence of ancient French colonial architecture, ancient temples, and towering modern skyscrapers glowing through the tropical mist. Sunlight broke through the overcast sky in golden shards, reflecting off the steel-and-glass facade of the distant Kinh Thien Tower like a warning sign.
Inside the pressurized quiet of the custom-fitted executive cabin, Mrs. Duong sat by the window, gazing down at her homeland. Her eyes, once clouded by constant pain and exhaustion, were clear and alert. She wore a soft lavender silk tunic, tailored specifically for her in Manhattan, and her hands rested comfortably on her lap without the tremors that had plagued her for years. The medical team stationed in the rear cabin had monitored her vital signs continuously throughout the fourteen-hour flight from John F. Kennedy International Airport; every indicator confirmed that her cardiovascular system was operating at full capacity, completely regenerated by the cellular therapy.
Marcus Duong stood beside her seat, a porcelain cup of hot jasmine tea held lightly in his hand. He wore a crisp tailored dark navy suit, his demeanor as unruffled as if he had just stepped out of an office next door. He looked out at the city where he had once walked barefoot through flooded streets, carrying a soaked canvas bag filled with borrowed books.
"It looks different from up here, Marcus," Mrs. Duong said softly in Vietnamese, her voice carrying a resonant strength that still brought a subtle warmth to Marcus’s chest. "When you leave a place on your knees and return in the sky, the ground seems smaller."
"The ground hasn't changed, Mother," Marcus replied gently, sitting on the leather ottoman beside her. "Only our perspective has. You will never have to bow to anyone on that ground again."