“Marcus doesn't know how to read an IP routing table,” Victoria’s recorded voice answered with a cold, dismissive chuckle. “He’s a bull. All I have to do is show him the signed wire authorization with Dad’s biometric stamp, and he’ll do the rest of the work for us. He’ll yell, Dad will cry, and by Friday, I’ll be sitting in Mother’s chair.”
Marcus stood frozen.
He looked at his phone screen, then slowly turned his head to look at his wife, Sophia, who was cowering near the archway, her face drained of all color.
Then he turned to Victoria.
The anger that had consumed Marcus minutes ago was gone. In its place was something far more dangerous: a quiet, devastating realization.
"You used me," Marcus whispered. His voice was flat, devoid of emotion, like winter ice cracking underfoot. "You knew I would lose my temper. You set me up to attack our own father."
Victoria didn't answer right away. She looked at the smartphone in Charles's hand, then at the camera mounted on the clock. The polished, elegant demeanor she had maintained for years began to fracture.
"Marcus... listen to me," Victoria began, her voice tight. "Mother was wrong to give him total control. Look at him! He's seventy-two years old! He's letting the company stagnate while European competitors take our shipping routes!"
"He built this company, Victoria!" Marcus roared, the rage exploding back to the surface as he took a massive step toward his sister. "He worked eighteen-hour days on the docks while you were in private schools in Paris! And you drugged him?!"