The sharp, metallic click of the heavy steel handcuffs closing around Richard's wrists echoed infinitely louder than a detonating bomb.
Clara stood completely frozen. Her eyes were rigidly fixed on her husband's bound wrists. The terrifying, omnipotent monster who had always radiated absolute, unquestionable authority was currently being physically restrained like a pathetic street thug.
Yet, there was absolutely no panic on Richard's devastatingly handsome face. The catastrophic panic attack from minutes ago had completely evaporated, violently replaced by a freezing, lethal calm. The CEO possessed the brilliant, terrifying foresight to understand that physically resisting the federal police right now would only accelerate his destruction.
Richard's dark, eagle eyes locked directly onto Clara. It was absolutely no longer the condescending glare of a tyrant staring down at his terrified captive. It was the intense, desperate stare of a severely wounded general handing the absolute survival of his entire empire over to the last remaining soldier on the battlefield.
"Immediately contact Arthur Pendleton," Richard commanded David, his baritone voice entirely devoid of emotion. "And absolutely ensure that my wife retains total, uninterrupted executive control over my private office. Absolutely no one is permitted to touch my desk except her."
The lead federal officer aggressively grabbed Richard's tailored arm. "Let's go. Move."
The massive oak double doors slammed shut, completely swallowing the CEO of the Sterling Group.
A suffocating, heavy silence aggressively flooded the room. The sprawling executive suite instantly felt exactly like a massive, expensive tomb.
"Mr. Sterling..." David murmured, his face as pale as a fresh corpse. The fiercely loyal assistant aggressively rubbed his shaking hands over his face. "Our stock is going to absolutely plummet into the abyss tomorrow morning. The executive board will instantly convene an emergency vote to strip him of his title. It is completely over, Madam. We lost."
"Shut up, David."
Clara's voice sliced through the heavy silence. It was as sharp and freezing as a freshly forged katana.
David violently flinched. He stared in absolute shock at the young woman still wearing the rumpled black blazer. Clara was not crying. There was not a single microscopic trace of terror on her pale face. Her hazel eyes were blazing with a terrifying, demonic determination.
Arthur Sterling had brutally murdered her father. The old phantom had callously run down her innocent little brother. And now, the absolute monster had flawlessly framed her husband to completely steal the empire.
Clara aggressively marched directly toward the massive executive desk. "Manually engage the interior deadbolts on these doors. Immediately revoke all keycard access for this entire floor, strictly including the board of directors."
"But Madam, that is a severe violation of the primary corporate protocol—"
"Do it immediately!" Clara barked, her voice echoing with ruthless, unyielding authority. "Uncle Arthur desperately wants us to panic. He actively expects us to run around like terrified, cornered rats. We are absolutely not going to hand him that pathetic satisfaction."
David swallowed hard. In that fleeting second, he saw the exact same terrifying, dominant leadership aura of Richard Sterling burning violently within the young woman. Without uttering another syllable of protest, he lunged for the emergency control panel on the wall. A low, heavy mechanical hum resonated as the massive steel bolts slammed into place, completely sealing the CEO's office electronically.
Clara aggressively dropped into Richard's massive leather chair. She pulled his primary laptop toward her, the screen still glowing brightly.
"Your precious Uncle Arthur flawlessly executed a masterpiece of a frame job," Clara stated coldly, her slender fingers already flying aggressively across the keyboard. "He manually bypassed the Mega-Medica mainframe from the inside, deliberately routing the IP address to make it look exactly like the catastrophic leak originated from my pathetic assistant terminal. He completely covered his tracks."
David cautiously approached, standing rigidly beside the desk with a terrified expression. "Can you actually trace the origin point, Madam?"
"I absolutely need your CEO-level access right now," Clara demanded. "I managed to exploit a backdoor using my late father's ghost ID, but I require top-tier executive clearance to physically view the deep-level data deletion logs. Input his master password."
David hesitated for exactly one second before leaning over and rapidly typing an incredibly long, highly complex alphanumeric string.
The screen instantly flashed a brilliant green. Clara now possessed absolute, omnipotent control over the entire central nervous system of the Sterling Group.
She immediately dove straight into the deep-level server activity logs from the past two hours. Her horrific suspicion was instantly confirmed. The classified Mega-Medica data had not merely been forwarded; the original source files had been completely eradicated using a highly aggressive, military-grade wiping protocol.
"This is way too clean," Clara murmured, her eyebrows knitting together in a deep frown. "It is physically impossible for a single individual to execute a data wipe of this magnitude in a matter of minutes without months of meticulous preparation. Or... without extensive prior experience."
Clara abruptly stopped typing. Her brilliant mind began rapidly connecting the violently scattered, horrific puzzle pieces inside her head.
"David, Richard mentioned earlier that his father fell into a coma five years ago due to an accident. What exactly happened?"
David looked down, his expression turning incredibly grim. "It was a single-vehicle accident, Madam. Exactly six years ago, on the treacherous coastal highway cliffs. The primary brake line catastrophically failed. The Senior Madam died instantly on impact, while the Senior Chairman languished in a coma for an entire year before finally passing away."
The oxygen in the room violently plummeted to sub-zero.
"What was the exact, specific date of that crash?" Clara demanded, her voice tight.
"November seventh. Why are you asking, Madam?"