The interrogation room was dim, windowless, and deliberately cold.
Maria sat at the opposite end of a metal table, arms crossed, eyes locked on Mina, who sat hunched in her chair—no longer the sleek socialite but a shadow of the woman who once posed as a friend.
Mina didn't speak.
Not at first.
But Maria didn't rush her.
They had time.
---
Dana was being processed at a different facility under medical supervision for her shoulder wound. Victor, ever the ghost, had escaped during the chaos but not without leaving traces. Ian's security team was already combing the docks and tracking his burner phone.
But Maria had another target in mind right now.
One seated right in front of her.
Finally, Mina broke the silence.
"You were always going to come out on top, weren't you?" she whispered. "Even when they killed you, you still managed to claw your way back."
Maria's voice was quiet. "Why did you help them?"
Mina's laugh was dry and bitter. "Because I was tired of living in your shadow. You had everything—money, Ian, attention. I was always the background character in your fairy tale."
Maria narrowed her eyes. "So you joined the villains?"
Mina's lip curled. "I didn't know they were going to kill you."
"But you stayed after they did."
Mina said nothing.
Maria leaned forward. "Tell me who's really behind this. Blake is finished. Dana's exposed. Victor's running. But you… you can still walk out of this with some dignity—if you give me a name."
Mina's jaw clenched.
Maria pressed. "Who funded Project Marionette?"
Mina looked up, and for the first time, Maria saw it—fear.
"None of them were the mastermind," Mina said. "Not Dana. Not Blake. They were just chess pieces."
"Then who was the player?"
Mina hesitated… then whispered:
> "Sebastian Vale."
---
Maria froze.
That name hadn't come up once.
Not in the files.
Not in the surveillance.
Not in Blake's vault.
Not even in Dana's encrypted messages.
It was a name buried so deep, even Maria's father had never mentioned him.
"Who is he?" Maria asked carefully.
Mina looked straight at her. "The real owner of Ross Global."
---
Back at Ian's penthouse, the tension in the room was thick.
Maria paced as Ian stood by the window, speaking on the phone.
"Noelle's digging now," he said, lowering the device. "She's running Vale's name through old ownership files and corporate shadow networks. So far, nothing on the surface."
Maria frowned. "Because he doesn't exist publicly. He's one of those men who buy power but never sign their names."
Ian walked over. "You believe Mina?"
"She's never looked that scared in her life. Not even at the docks."
Ian ran a hand through his hair. "So this Sebastian Vale—he's the one who started Project Marionette?"
Maria nodded. "He built it. Dana, Blake, even Victor—they were just executing his orders."
Ian exhaled. "Then we're not at the top of the chain."
Maria looked out the window. "No. We're just getting there."
---
Two days later, Maria and Ian flew to Zurich under assumed identities.
Noelle had discovered something on the deep web—a hidden server connected to a corporate holding company called Elysian Vault, registered to an untraceable beneficiary. But buried in an old shareholder scan, one name had flashed briefly before vanishing:
> S. Vale
The only address attached to it was in the Swiss Alps.
A manor.
Unlisted.
But funded.
Quiet.
And possibly where the real orchestrator of Maria's downfall now sat, far from the reach of headlines and scandal.
---
The private car climbed the winding mountain road, snow gathering at the edges, tall pines surrounding them like sentinels.
Maria sat in the backseat, wrapped in a black coat, heart racing. The deeper they climbed, the more certain she became.
This wasn't revenge anymore.
This was war.
The car finally stopped in front of an iron gate.
Beyond it, a towering manor of dark stone loomed like a castle out of time.
The gates creaked open.
No guards in sight.
No welcome.
Just silence.
Ian turned to her. "Ready?"
Maria nodded.
And they walked in.
---
Inside, the manor was warm but sterile.
Not lived in.
Not empty either.
A man stood by the fireplace, back turned.
Grey suit. Crisp. Still.
Maria recognized power before it spoke.
"Sebastian Vale," she said.
He turned.
Mid-fifties. Tall. Charcoal hair, slicked back. Eyes sharp like cut glass.
He smiled.
"Miss Sinclair," he said. "You've come a long way."
Maria didn't blink. "You tried to kill me."
"No," he said calmly. "I tried to remove a liability."
Ian stepped forward. "You orchestrated the entire thing."
"Of course I did. You were emotional. Naive. Dangerous to your inheritance. And Ian—" he glanced at him, "—was inconveniently loyal."
Maria's voice shook slightly. "You created Project Marionette."
"I did," Vale said. "And it worked—until you didn't stay dead."
He walked toward her, hands behind his back.
"But that's the thing about puppets. Once they cut their strings, they become unpredictable."
Maria raised her chin. "I'm not a puppet."
Vale studied her for a long moment.
Then said, "No. You're a queen now."