The first attack came from the United Nations. A formal inquiry into Blake Sterling's role in international arms trafficking. Investigators wanted to know how much Blake knew about Sterling Industries' current operations. How involved he was in the weapons sales. How he could claim ignorance when the company bore his family name."I don't control Sterling Industries," Blake told the investigators for the tenth time. "I was removed as CEO. I have no voting power. No operational authority. No involvement whatsoever.""But you retain significant stock ownership," the lead investigator countered. "You profit from the company's activities. Including weapons sales to known terrorist organizations."Blake had sold most of his Sterling Industries stock the moment James Sr. took over. But he still held twelve percent. Couldn't sell more without tanking the price. Twelve percent of a weapons manufacturer flooding the world with death.The investigators left. But Blake knew they'd be back. This

The video played on loop in Blake's mind. Emma tied to a chair. Tape over her mouth. Terror in her eyes. And Alexander standing behind her with a gun pressed to her temple."You have twelve hours," Alexander's voice came through the phone. "Sterling Industries stock closed at fifty-one dollars. It needs to recover to at least ninety by market close tomorrow. Or your wife dies.""You're bluffing. You said this wasn't personal—""It wasn't. Until you attacked my money. You cost me three billion dollars in one day, Blake. Made me look weak to my investors. Made me vulnerable to my creditors. That made it personal." Alexander's voice was cold. Calm. Terrifying in its composure. "Stock price recovers or she dies. Simple business transaction.""I can't move the stock forty points in twelve hours. That's impossible.""Then I guess Emma dies. Shame. I actually liked her. More than I like you, certainly." Alexander paused. "Oh, and Blake? Don't try to trace this location. Don't call the FBI. D

Emma didn't wait until morning. She drove to Grace's school at 9 PM, pulled the night administrator from her home, and demanded immediate withdrawal paperwork for all three children."Mrs. Sterling, school policy requires two weeks notice—""Someone is stalking my daughter. I have video evidence. She's not coming back here. Ever." Emma's hands shook as she signed the forms. "James and Sarah too. All of them. Tonight."The administrator saw Emma's terror. Saw the USB drive containing surveillance footage. Complied without further argument.Emma called the other schools. Withdrew James and Sarah the same way. Then called a private security firm Sam had recommended months ago. Elite Protection Services. Ex-Special Forces operators who'd protected diplomats, CEOs, and heads of state."I need a team. Tonight. Armed. Trained. My children are being targeted by international criminals." Emma's voice broke. "Money is no object. I'll pay whatever you ask."The team leader, a former Navy SEAL na

The International Criminal Court courtroom was packed. Media filled every available seat. Cameras lined the back wall—this hearing was being broadcast worldwide. Blake Sterling's appeal had become international news. The billionaire war criminal seeking freedom. The man who'd built weapons that killed thousands.Blake sat in the defendant's box, shackled at the wrists and ankles. He wore the orange prison jumpsuit. Hair longer now. Grey creeping into the temples. Six months in solitary confinement had aged him. Hollowed him out.His legal team sat nearby. Three attorneys who'd filed the appeal on grounds of manipulation, fabricated evidence, and Alexander Sterling Jr.'s criminal conspiracy. They'd built a solid case. Had witnesses. Had documentation. Had proof that Blake's conviction was tainted.The prosecution team looked confident. Too confident. Blake noticed it immediately. They had something. Some weapon Blake didn't know about yet.The lead prosecutor stood to address the cour

Blake stared at Kane in the dim light of the infirmary recovery ward. "You're talking about prison escape. That's life in prison if we're caught. No parole. Ever.""You're already looking at thirty years with people actively trying to kill you. You won't survive six months let alone thirty years. We both know that." Kane leaned closer, voice dropping to barely a whisper. "I have CIA contacts who owe me. Black ops guys I worked with in Syria. They can extract us during a prisoner transfer.""Prisoner transfer?""Standard protocol. High-value inmates get moved between facilities every few months. Security measure. Prevents them from building too much power in one location." Kane pulled out a small piece of paper, covered in what looked like random numbers. "This is coded. My handler will understand it. If we request transfer to a different facility, CIA can arrange it. Then extract us during transport."Blake processed the plan. "Why would CIA help us escape? What do they get?""You. Sp