"I do not care about the consequences. I would rather see the city burn than allow those Vanya rats to win. Tell me, Richter, what is our next move?"
Beatrice looked at him, her eyes burning with a cold, desperate light. She paced the length of her private drawing room, the silk of her robe rustling against the cold marble floor. The strike had paralyzed her foundry, and the forged documents had convinced her that Vanya was the architect of her professional demise. She was a woman cornered, and in her frantic state, she clung to Richter as if he were a beacon of safety in a rising storm. She did not know that the very man she relied upon was the one pulling the strings of her catastrophe, nor did she realize that her desperate fight for revenge was the final step in her own ruin.
Richt
