Chapter 12 - Shadows over Lake Geneva
Z
The suite at the Hotel des Bergues was converted into a temporary nerve center within hours. Five of Mercer Cybernetics’ top elite ethical hackers worked frantically at encrypted terminals, their fingers flying across glowing keyboards.
“The Swiss banking servers are air-gapped,” Marcus reported from New York via an encrypted video link. “We can’t breach Banque du Léman’s main vault remotely without triggering an automatic alarm that would immediately release the Nemesis Protocol files.”
My father stood by the balcony window, watching the snow fall over the dark waters of Lake Geneva. “Montmirail isn't working alone. My intelligence team just confirmed that three representatives from European political syndicates arrived at the bank an hour ago. They are pressuring Montmirail to execute the leak early to destroy their political rivals.”
“They think they hold all the cards,” I murmured, pacing the Persian rug. “They believe I am reacting out of fear. But Montmirail made a fatal mistake.”
Margaret looked up from her legal documents. “What mistake, Emilia?”
“He treated the Nemesis Protocol as a static extortion file,” I explained, stopping in front of the master floor plan of Banque du Léman projected on the wall. “He thinks Vivian Hale simply handed him a flash drive or a hard server. But Vivian was obsessed with control. She wouldn't trust Montmirail with the master decryption key unconditionally.”
I turned to Marcus on the screen. “Marcus, re-analyze the digital signature Vivian used when she set up the Swiss trust from her Manhattan penthouse two years ago.”
Marcus’s hands moved rapidly across his board. Lines of green code illuminated his face. Suddenly, his eyes widened in shock.
“She used a biometric dual-authentication protocol!” Marcus exclaimed. “The Nemesis Protocol can only be decrypted or destroyed using two matching physical keys.”
“One key is held in Montmirail’s vault,” I said, the trap coming into sharp focus. “Where is the second key, Marcus?”
“It’s embedded in a physical hardware token,” Marcus read the server trace, his jaw dropping. “A token that was registered to Daniel Hale’s personal safe deposit box in Manhattan—the very box seized by the FBI six months ago!”
A sharp, victorious smile spread across my face.
Montmirail didn't have the power to leak the files unilaterally. He was bluffing. He needed the second decryption key, which was currently sitting in a federal evidence locker in New York under the protection of the United States Department of Justice.
My father turned away from the window, a ruthless grin breaking across his face. “Montmirail is trying to force us to surrender our satellite network before we discover he’s holding a gun with no bullets.”
“Not entirely with no bullets,” I corrected, my eyes turning cold. “If he realizes he can’t get the second key, he might attempt to destroy the server entirely, triggering a corrupt data dump that could still damage our family name. We need that physical hardware token from the FBI evidence locker. And we need it in Geneva before Montmirail’s twenty-four-hour deadline expires.”
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I picked up my phone and dialed a direct, secure number.
“Agent Vance,” I said as the line connected. “This is Emilia Mercer. I need a federal transport unit dispatched to Manhattan evidence locker 4-B immediately. It’s time for Daniel Hale to make his final contribution to justice.”
