The video ended.
Alexander sat frozen.
On the screen: his mother. Alive. Alert. Poised.
Across from her, a younger Austin.
Laughing.
Shaking her hand.
Whispering something with his back to the camera.
The date was unmistakable—one week before she died.
Alexander rewound the footage. Rewatched the gesture. Austin's wristwatch, his mole—no room for denial.
He felt the betrayal like a blade slipped between his ribs.
Austin had been with him for a decade.
Effortless. Loyal. Clever.
Too clever.
And now—possibly the link between the Eastins and the woman whose "death" had built the foundation of Alexander's rage.
He stood, grabbed his phone, and called Austin.
No answer.
Once.
Twice.
Alexander's hand tightened around the device.
He didn't pace.
Didn't rage.
He simply locked down the server, flagged Austin's credentials, and sent one message to his security team:
> "Find him. Do not alert. Observe only."
Elsewhere in the tower, Yuna stared at the open laptop in front of her.
She had cracked the digital trail behind Operation Glass Dove.
Encrypted messages between Victor Eastin and a confidential informant.
Dates, amounts, location drops.
One recurring alias: WRAITH_7.
Attached to every directive.
And then she found it.
A payment wire from Eastin Holdings—six figures, broken into cryptocurrency chunks—sent to a shell account.
Sender: A. D. Monroe.
Her throat tightened.
Austin's full name was Austin Daniel Monroe.
Downstairs in the kitchen, Alexander walked in just as she rose from the table, laptop in hand.
Their eyes met.
No words needed.
"I know," Yuna said softly.
He nodded. "I know too."
Together, they looked down at the data—hard proof.
Austin wasn't just a mole.
He was a mole.
The psychiatric files were leaked by the one who rerouted her hospital footage. Potentially, the person who helped orchestrate the fake death of Alexander's mother.
Yuna swallowed hard. "We let him get too close."
Alexander's jaw tightened. "He wanted us to."
"But why now? Why turn on you after years of loyalty?"
Alexander's voice was bitter. "Because it was never loyalty. It was management. And now we've gone off script."
Across the city, Austin sat in a candlelit bar, sipping whiskey from a lowball glass. Alone.
A phone buzzed.
He checked the screen.
A photo.
Alexander.
Yuna.
Standing too close. Sharing information. Planning.
A silent warning from Elsa: They're onto you.
He didn't reply.
Didn't panic.
Instead, he typed a new message on a different device:
> Initiate blackout protocol.
Phase three begins now.
He slipped the phone into his coat, paid the tab, and disappeared into the night.
By morning, the Wolfe Tower network began to short.
Not externally.
Internally.
The security footage looped on repeat. Emails sent, disappeared. Backups began deleting themselves.
Alexander stormed into the comms room. "Status!"
His IT chief shook her head. "It's a phantom breach. Internal. It's not coming from the outside—it's coded into the architecture. Like a virus hiding in plain sight."
"Shut it down."
"We can't. It's… part of the core."
Alexander turned to Yuna. "He planted it years ago."
Yuna's lips parted. "So everything—every deal, every scandal—he's been watching it all unfold."
"And waiting," Alexander added. "For what?"
She didn't answer.
But her stomach dropped.
Because she had a feeling she was the answer.
Hours later, a package arrived for Yuna.
No sender.
No return address.
Just her name in handwritten ink.
She opened it carefully.
Inside: a tiny velvet box and a single flash drive.
The box contained a gold ring with a sapphire center—her grandmother's.
Stolen years ago from her mother's bedroom.
She'd been told it was lost during renovations.
The flash drive contained a single video.
> Yuna's mother.
Tear-streaked. Angry.
In her old bedroom.
Screaming at someone off screen.
"You said you'd protect her! Not turn her into a bargaining chip!"
Yuna's heart seized.
Then the camera panned.
Revealing her father.
And beside him?
Austin.
Younger. Colder.
Unapologetic.
> "You said it yourself. If she ever knew what she was born into, she'd destroy it. Better she be used than lost."
Yuna stumbled back, tears burning at her eyes.
Alexander caught her before she fell.
"Yuna—"
She handed him the flash drive.
His face hardened as he watched.
The evidence was undeniable.
Austin wasn't just a spy.
He was part of her conditioning.
Part of the psychiatric cover-up.
Part of everything she'd blamed on chance.
Her lips trembled. "He didn't just spy on us. He built the lie I've been living in."
Alexander pulled her close.
And for the first time, Yuna let herself break.
No guards.
No fire.
Just grief.
That night, a message lit up on a private intelligence channel used only by high-level operatives and elite families.
Sender: A. D. Monroe
Message:
> Target destabilized. Emotional breach achieved.
Initiate final phase: Wolfe's inheritance is now vulnerable.
Next move belongs to the girl.