The rain hadn’t stopped for hours by the time they reached the outskirts of Geneva.
Thunder crawled across the sky in slow, heavy groans, as if the weather itself warned them not to go further. But Orla wasn’t listening. Not to the rain. Not to the wind. Not even to Stanley when he muttered, “This is a suicide mission.”
She tightened the grip on her duffel bag and whispered, “It’s a message.”
The plan wasn’t flawless.
But it was dangerous enough to work.
Rina had secured blueprints to the private vault beneath the former Banque Lumière, now owned by a shell company linked to Nox Regnum. Buried six stories underground, it housed encrypted files, crypto wallets, blackmail footage, and—more importantly—a device Rina believed could trace Lazarus’s movements.
A biometric key embedded with
