Sterling called Victor Cross to testify.
Not in court.
In a deposition.
And he asked the question Cross had been dreading.
"Where did the money come from?"
---
The deposition was held in the same sterile conference room.
White walls. Fluorescent lights. The same court reporter.
But the energy was different.
Victor Cross sat at the table.
He was thinner than in his photographs. Grayer. His eyes had a desperate gleam.
Sterling sat across from him.
Eli was in the corner, taking notes.
Damien and Christabel watched from behind a one-way mirror.
---
"Mr. Cross," Sterling began, "you were the CEO of Cross Industries."
"I was."
"Your company was acquired by Moreau Industries three years ago."
"It was."
"The acquisition was fair. Market value. Independent valuation. You signed the paperwork."
Cross's jaw tightened.
"I signed under duress."
"Duress?"
"I had no choice."
"You had a choice. You could have said no."
"And lost everything?"
"You lost everything anyway."
---
Sterling leaned forward.
"Mr. Cross, how much money do you have left?"
Cross's eyes flickered.
"Excuse me?"
"Your net worth. After the merger. After selling your shares. How much do you have?"
"I don't see how that's relevant."
"It's relevant because you're funding this lawsuit. You're paying for Marcus Webb's legal fees. You're the sponsor of the Syndicate."
Cross was silent.
"So I'll ask again. How much do you have?"
---
Eli slid a document across the table.
Sterling picked it up.
"According to bank records, you have approximately $48 million spread across various accounts."
Cross didn't speak.
"$48 million sounds like a lot. But for a man who was worth over $2 billion, it's nothing."
"I manage."
"You're desperate."
"I'm patient."
Sterling smiled.
"Patient men don't fund lawsuits against their enemies. Patient men don't form alliances with criminals. Patient men don't gamble everything on one last chance."
---
Cross leaned forward.
"What do you want, Mr. Sterling?"
"The truth."
"The truth is that Damien Moreau destroyed my company."
"The truth is that your company was failing. The merger saved jobs. Saved pensions. Saved livelihoods."
"I built that company."
"You destroyed that company. Years before the merger. By stealing from it."
---
The room went silent.
Cross's face went pale.
"What did you say?"
Sterling slid another document across the table.
Bank records. Offshore accounts. Transfers dating back ten years.
"We found the accounts, Mr. Cross. The ones you thought were hidden. The ones you've been siphoning money into for years."
Cross stared at the documents.
His hands were shaking.
"Those aren't mine."
"They're traced to you. Through shell companies. Through intermediaries. Through a decade of lies."
---
Damien watched from behind the mirror.
His face was calm.
But his hands were clenched.
Christabel took his hand.
"You're squeezing too hard."
"I'm fine."
"You're not fine."
"I'm angry."
"Same thing."
"Different intention."
---
Sterling continued.
"So let me understand, Mr. Cross. You stole from your own company for years. You hid millions in offshore accounts. When the merger happened, those accounts were exposed. You had to liquidate. You lost most of what you stole."
Cross didn't speak.
"And now you're trying to get that money back. Not through legal means. Through extortion. Through a sham lawsuit. Through a man you manipulated into suing my clients."
"You can't prove any of this."
"We already have."
---
Eli stood.
"Mr. Cross, your $48 million isn't from selling shares. It's stolen money. Money you took from your own company before the merger. Money that should have gone to your employees. Your shareholders. Your creditors."
Cross's face was white.
"That money is mine."
"That money is stolen."
"It's mine."
"It's evidence."
---
Sterling leaned back.
"Here's what's going to happen, Mr. Cross. You're going to drop your support for Marcus Webb's lawsuit. You're going to withdraw your funding for the Syndicate. And you're going to disappear."
"Or what?"
"Or we expose everything. The embezzlement. The offshore accounts. The decade of lies. You'll go to prison. You'll lose the $48 million. You'll lose everything."
Cross stood.
His chair scraped against the floor.
"You think you've won?"
"I think we've just begun."
---
Cross walked out of the room.
The door slammed.
Eli looked at Sterling.
"He's not going to disappear."
"No."
"He's going to fight."
"Let him."
"He's going to lose."
Sterling smiled.
"Let him."
---
That night, Christabel put Lena to bed.
Not Damien. Her.
Lena was teething. Fussy. Nothing made her happy.
"Bah," Lena said. Angry. Frustrated.
"I know, little one. Your teeth hurt. Everything hurts."
Lena cried.
"I know. I feel the same way sometimes."
---
Damien appeared in the doorway.
"She's not sleeping?"
"She's teething."
"Do you need help?"
"Just hold her."
He took Lena from her arms.
The baby cried.
Then stopped.
Then looked at her father.
"Da," she said.
"She's getting better at it."
"She's going to be a talker."
"She's going to be just like you."
"God help the world."
"God help anyone who tries to steal from her."
---
They stood over the crib together.
Lena was asleep. Her tiny chest rose and fell.
"Cross is going to fight," Christabel said.
"Let him."
"He's going to lose."
"Yes."
"Then what?"
He looked at her.
"Then we rebuild. Again."