Chapter 450: Sworn on the Family Name
Ace sat in silence for a long moment before slapping his knee. "Alright, I'm in. But how exactly does this work? I can get my people embedded in the union, but keeping the march going long enough to matter—"
"Hell's Angels has seven thousand active members working the docks and the factories, plus twice that number in the outer network," Emily said. "They'll join the march as private citizens. Enough to make it look massive. Enough to make sure it doesn't actually spiral out of control."
She paused, then added, almost as an afterthought: "Though a little friction never hurts. Miguel's supporters might accidentally provoke the crowd. Some agitator might make a run at the police line. Those are exactly the kinds of images that end up on tomorrow's front page."
Ace looked between the two of them—Emily with her quiet, surgical calm; Charles with his unreadable stillness—and felt a chill crawl up his spine. Separately, each of them was dangerous. Together, they were something else entirely. He was profoundly grateful to be on their side.
"And after the march?" he asked.
"Under Seraphim election law," Charles said, "if a major civil disturbance occurs within seven days of the vote, the Electoral Commission has the authority to delay the election by fifteen to thirty days. That gives us the time we need to dismantle Miguel's support structure piece by piece—Nick first, then Grace. Once they're gone, Miguel is completely isolated. As for Gerald..."
Ace turned his glass slowly in his hands, his expression thoughtful. "Gerald's a different animal entirely. Miguel at least has a reputation to protect—royal optics, public image, all of that. Gerald doesn't care about any of it. He's a true believer in chaos."
Charles's eyes darkened. "The Rivera family is ten times more complicated than Miguel. On the surface, they're legitimate businesspeople. Underneath that, they're holding a card that could bring this entire country down."
"What kind of card?"
Emily set her coffee cup on the table. When she spoke, her voice was cold enough to cut glass. "A virus. Do you remember the Aquilonia outbreak? Decades ago—millions dead across Seraphim?"
Ace's champagne glass lurched in his hand. A few drops of amber liquid splashed onto his wrist. "You're saying it wasn't natural?"
"Seraphim's medical infrastructure wasn't world-class back then," Emily continued, "but it was more than capable of containing a standard outbreak. That epidemic arrived too fast, spread too cleanly, and vanished too neatly. Almost as if someone had a hand on the dial the whole time." She let that sit for a moment. "And after it was over, the Rivera family's biopharmaceutical division saw its market value increase twentyfold. They locked in a thirty-year exclusive government contract for vaccine supply. They publicly declared the virus no longer posed any threat to human health." A thin smile. "They were lying. The research never stopped."
Charles pulled up a scan on his tablet—a document yellowed with age, the ink faded at the edges. "This came out of the Seraphim National Archives. Three months before the outbreak, a Rivera-controlled laboratory applied for a research license on a novel airborne respiratory pathogen. The approval signature belongs to the Health Secretary at the time. After the epidemic ended, that document disappeared from all official records." He paused. "My people found a backup copy."
Ace stared at the blurred text on the screen. A thin sheen of sweat had appeared on his forehead. "If this is real... the Rivera family killed millions of people—not for money. Well, not just for money. For control. For monopoly. If something like that ever got out—"
"That's exactly the problem." Charles's voice was even. "We don't have enough to go public. The laboratory was demolished years ago. The researchers are either dead or missing. The original viral samples have never been recovered. The Rivera family has restarted the program—we're certain of that—but we have no idea where, or how far along they are."
Emily moved to the window. For a moment she simply looked out at the darkness beyond the glass.
"My grandfather knows."
Ace blinked. "Beau? He's been missing for—"
"He wasn't missing. He was being hunted." She turned around. The anger in her eyes was controlled, banked like coals—but it was there. "The last time he contacted me was a week before he disappeared. He said he'd uncovered something about the Rivera family and told me never to trust anyone connected to them. The next day, every one of his personal security team was dead—a traffic accident, officially. He was gone. Hell's Angels had its theories—defection, assassination—but I knew better. My grandfather doesn't just vanish."
She paused, and when she continued, her voice had dropped just slightly.
"He spent forty years at Campbell Manor. He knew every inch of it. If he hid evidence anywhere, it's there."
Charles crossed the room and rested his hand over hers. Her fingers were cold.
"What's the current situation at the manor?"
Emily closed her eyes for a brief moment. "It belongs to the Rivera family now. After my grandfather disappeared, they seized it on a debt dispute—technically vacant, officially unoccupied. In reality..." She exhaled slowly. "I sent three separate teams to do reconnaissance. None of them came back. The property is fortified—heavily. Even Fiona's night raid could only recover the other Campbell family assets. The manor itself has never been within reach."
Ace let out a long breath. "So you think Beau isn't missing at all. You think the Rivera family has him locked up in there. Or..."
"Or he's dead, and the evidence is still there." Her voice didn't waver. "Either way, I have to go in."
Ace leaned forward. "One more question. If you have no witness and no physical evidence, how do you even know the virus is still active? That's not exactly something you stumble across."
"Because someone was infected with it," Charles said.
"Who?"
The word had barely left his mouth when Emily's gaze cut sharply to Charles. He was smiling—quiet, composed, unbothered.
"Me."
Ace went very still. "...You?"
"Three years ago. I was infected with the Rivera family's latest strain."
Ace stared at him. The pieces fell into place with a nauseating click—the pallor, the episodes, the medications he'd always assumed were some chronic condition. He'd never once imagined this.
"So that's your play," he said slowly. "You go public with your own diagnosis. Use yourself as bait to draw the Rivera family into the open."
"That's right."
"Charles—that's an enormous risk."
"No risk, no opening." Charles's expression remained calm. "The Windsor family isn't without resources. The Rivera family hasn't managed to finish the job in three years. I'm not particularly worried."
Ace exhaled. "Alright. If that's the plan, I'm with you." He looked between the two of them. "So we have a witness—potentially. What about the physical evidence? Who's going into the manor?"
"I'll go," Charles said.
Emily shook her head immediately. "No. Your position is too exposed right now. If you're caught on Rivera property, Miguel's team will spin it into election interference before the dust settles." She turned to Ace. "And we still need you running point on the march, plus working the angles on Nick and Grace. Neither of you can afford to be in the field for this."
Charles's jaw tightened. He clearly didn't like it. But Emily had already shifted her attention.
"Mr. Austin," she said. "I need a favor."
Ace didn't hesitate. "Name it."