Chapter 5 - THE CHESSBOARD OF GENEVA
By 8:00 AM the following morning, Ethan Carter was no longer just a grieving father. He was a war general.
He stood in his private office at Carter International’s corporate headquarters in downtown Geneva, overlooking the pristine blue waters of Lake Geneva and the snow-capped Alps in the distance.
Beside him stood Marcus Sterling, his trusted chief attorney, and Detective Sergeant Henri Laurent—a senior investigator with the Swiss Cantonal Police whom Ethan had funded privately for independent task forces.
On the large glass conference table lay wiretap transcripts, banking records from Liechtenstein, and forensic photography obtained overnight by a elite private security team Ethan had flown in from London.
“It’s all here, Ethan,” Sergeant Laurent said, tapping a red folder. “Stefan Vance opened three shell accounts in Geneva using forged identities. Two days before Eleanor’s accident, a payment of 200,000 Swiss Francs was transferred into an account belonging to a mechanic in Montreux. That mechanic vanished three weeks later.”
“And Julian?” Ethan asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“Julian’s gambling debts in Macau and London exceed twelve million Euros,” Marcus Sterling explained. “He was siphoning money from the Carter Foundation to pay off triads. Your wife discovered the discrepancies three days before she died. She was planning to present the audit to the board on a Monday. She died on Saturday.”
Ethan turned away from the window, his eyes cold as glaciers. “And the twins’ paralysis?”
“We spoke to a specialist in Zurich discreetly this morning,” Laurent replied. “The poison found in small traces in old medical reports was a rare neurotoxin—a heavy metal derivative that suppresses nerve conductivity without showing up on standard blood panels. Someone was poisoning their food daily to keep them in those wheelchairs.”
Ethan’s fist slammed onto the glass table with enough force to send a shockwave through the room.
Poisoning his eight-year-old daughters.
They hadn't just wanted Eleanor’s money. They had wanted Ethan broken, paralyzed by grief, entirely dependent on Julian to run the corporate empire while his children slowly withered away.
“Why didn't the neurotoxin kill them?” Ethan demanded.
“Because the dosage was controlled,” Laurent said grimly. “It was designed to cripple, not destroy. Given by someone with daily access to their meals.”
Ethan closed his eyes. Victoria. Victoria, who frequently visited the mansion under the guise of bringing special organic teas and imported pastries for the girls.
“We have enough to arrest them, Ethan,” Laurent said, reaching for his coat. “I can execute warrants by noon.”
“No,” Ethan said opening his eyes. “Not yet.”
Marcus frowned. “Ethan, they are dangerous. They tried to sabotage the basement line last night!”
“They don't know I heard them,” Ethan said, his mind calculating every variable. “If you arrest them now, their high-priced lawyers will post bail, shred paper trails, and blame everything on Stefan Vance or dead mechanics. I want them to walk directly into the trap. I want them to destroy themselves in front of the entire board.”
“How?” Laurent asked.
May you like
Ethan looked at a small photograph on his desk—a picture taken yesterday of Grace, Lily, and Maya sitting on the snow-covered lawn, laughing.
“Tonight is the Annual Carter Foundation Gala,” Ethan said, a terrifying, beautiful smile forming on his face. “Julian thinks he is presenting the keynote speech to assume the presidency of the foundation. We are going to give him the stage he deserves.”
