Chapter 13: One Year Later on Wall Street

One year later, on the anniversary of that turbulent day, I stood in Eleanor’s old corner office at Lindqvist Holdings. The Manhattan skyline stretched out before me, a breathtaking panorama of glass and steel.

I was eighteen now, and the corporate trustee. The heavy mahogany desk, once Eleanor’s, felt both familiar and enormous.

My phone buzzed on the polished wood. A short text message from an unlisted international number.

The screen glowed: “The Swiss accounts were never frozen. 15% is still moving through Panama. Happy Anniversary, little sister.”

My fingers tightened around the phone. Julian. He was still out there, moving money, a phantom limb of the empire.

I looked out over the city, the endless sprawl of buildings. While I held the company, solid and tangible, Julian remained free in international waters. He was funded by hidden corporate shells, untraceable in the digital shadows, accounts I might never locate.

When money defines the bloodline, every victory is merely an intermission before the next deposition.