Chapter 74
Emily Windsor's POV
Luke rose from his chair and moved behind me, wrapping his arms around me in a gentle embrace. He offered no hollow words of comfort—only the warmth of his body, enveloping my frozen frame.
"Emily," he murmured, resting his chin atop my head, his voice carrying a barely perceptible note of anguish, "I'm sorry."
That apology wasn't for himself. It was for the name he carried, for the dark history he could never erase.
I leaned into him as silent tears finally slid down my cheeks.
I wasn't crying for my grandmother's death—I was crying for the truth that had taken over twenty years to surface, for the nauseating coldness and cruelty buried beneath the guise of an accident.
After a long while, I steadied myself and pulled away, lifting my gaze to meet his worried eyes.
My voice came out hoarse from crying, yet strangely calm. "I'm going on the operation."
Luke's pupils contracted sharply.
"I need to see him arrested with my own eyes." Each word fell distinctly from my lips. "I need to watch him pay for everything he's done—not just for the Victor family's future, but for my grandmother. For all the innocent people like her who were crushed underfoot like stepping stones."
Those abstract legal statutes, those cold business plans—in that moment, they all gained concrete, burning meaning.
I would claim a long-overdue justice for them.
This was no longer Luke's war alone. From now on, it was mine too.
---
The night over Lake Geneva was gentler than any New York evening. The water lay still, distant lights scattered across it like crushed stars.
But inside the lakeside villa's command center, the atmosphere was more lethal than any Wall Street trading floor.
A massive monitor was split into a dozen feeds, silently broadcasting live footage from multiple angles of a white yacht on international waters. That was where Hank had chosen his own grave.
Lily sat beside me, her usual flamboyance replaced by taut nerves, her knuckles white as she gripped the armrest and stared at the screens.
I didn't look at her. My entire focus was locked on the main screen—on the man in the black tactical jacket.
Luke.
He was disguised as part of the buyer's entourage, wearing a baseball cap pulled low over his face. His expression revealed nothing, except for the faintest glint of steel when he exchanged glances with the similarly dressed FBI agents around him.
My fingertips were ice-cold. My mind kept circling back to that casualty report from over twenty years ago.
Hazel.
My grandmother.
An ordinary name. A life crushed effortlessly beneath the flood of power and greed.
I'd once believed that what drove me to stand here was my duty as a lawyer, my concern for the Victor family's future.
But last night, I finally understood: it was the rage and grief buried in my blood that truly chained me to this war.
"Target approaching."
The FBI operation commander's low voice crackled through my earpiece, snapping me back to the present.
A speedboat cut through the water, pulling alongside the yacht.
Hank climbed aboard, accompanied by the international broker. He looked even older than he had in the chapel, his eyes gleaming with the greed and wariness of a cornered gambler. He scanned his surroundings cautiously, his gaze briefly pausing on Luke before moving on.
He didn't recognize him.
The transaction unfolded quickly, like a silent play.
The broker opened a metal briefcase, displaying a hard drive and several key original documents to the buyer's representatives.
On the other side, the FBI agent opened a case filled with cash—the green bills glowing with sinful allure under the lights.
Verification. Inspection.
Everything proceeded so smoothly it felt unsettling.
Just as the broker prepared to hand over the hard drive, Luke—who had remained silent—suddenly raised his hand and removed his baseball cap.
He lifted his head, and that face—devastatingly handsome even in dim light—was laid bare before Hank's eyes.
Time seemed to freeze.
The greed and triumph on Hank's face shattered instantly. His mouth opened, but no sound emerged.
"Hank," Luke's voice came through the high-sensitivity audio equipment, clear and steady yet carrying the chill of hell itself. "It's been decades since you've been to Europe. Still enjoying the view?"
That casual greeting was the final straw.
Hank lunged like a rabid dog whose tail had been stepped on—not toward Luke, but toward the metal case containing the files, clearly intending to grab it and jump overboard.
The FBI agents stationed around the yacht were faster.
Almost the instant Hank moved, several black-clad figures pounced from every corner of the deck like hunting panthers.
Before Hank's fingers even grazed the case, an agent slammed him to the deck with a textbook takedown maneuver.
The international broker didn't even have time to react before the barrel of a gun was pressed against his temple. His hands shot up in surrender.
It was over.
In the command center, my gaze remained fixed on the man's silhouette on the screen.
Luke approached the pinned-down Hank, one slow step at a time.
He crouched, looking down at that face twisted with rage and despair. There was no triumph in his eyes—only a deathly, frozen emptiness.
The wind on the deck carried his low voice into the microphone.
"For these documents, you betrayed the Victor family. You sold out decades of my father's trust. Was it worth it?"
Hank spat a mouthful of bloody saliva in his direction and laughed maniacally. "Trust? That hypocrite Charles didn't know the first thing about trust! He used people like us—worked us like dogs and threw us away when he was done!"
His venomous gaze swept across everyone present. "Luke, don't get cocky! You think you've won? You think cleaning out us old-timers will let you sit easy on your throne?"
Luke's expression remained unchanged. He simply watched Hank quietly, as if observing a clown's final performance.
"Your hands are bloodier than any of ours!" Hank's laughter grew more shrill, every word laced with poison. "You think that woman Emily is helping you because she loves you? She'd rather tear the Victor family apart with her bare hands! Her grandmother was that old woman who died at the docks twenty years ago!"
My heart seized. All the blood in my body seemed to rush to my head.
In the command center, Lily whipped around to stare at me in disbelief.
On the screen, Luke's body went rigid for a single, fleeting moment.
In those unfathomable eyes, a crack finally appeared.