Professor Thorne’s private archive room was colder than the Manhattan Underground, and that was saying something.
No windows. No clocks. Just steel shelves packed with files that smelled like dust, ink, and secrets that had survived wars. The door slammed shut behind me, and the lock clicked with finality.
I didn’t flinch.
I had learned that fear was a currency. And I refused to spend it cheaply.
“Elena Sterling,” Thorne said calmly, removing his glasses and placing them on the table as if this were a faculty meeting and not an ambush. “You are hereby detained under the Supernatural Fair Trading Act, Article Seven.”
He reached into his coat.
Not for a gun.
For a badge.
Silver. Etched with sigils older than the NYSE. A hawk gripping a coin in its talons.
Vampire Hunter Association — Financial Oversight Division.
I laughed. I couldn’t help it.
“Let me guess,” I said lightly. “Market manipulation?”
“Using supernatural abilities to influence securities pricing,” he corrected. “That’s a felony. Even for legacy bloodlines.”
Two figures stepped out from the shadows.
Hunters.
One of them froze when she saw me.
“Wait,” she said, blinking. “She looks like—”
Her name tag read Lena.
My blood went cold.
I knew that face. I’d seen it in old family photographs. In margins scribbled with birthdays and notes like too curious for her own good.
My father’s great-niece.
My… something-niece.
She didn’t know.
Good.
“You taught me ethics,” I said to Thorne. “Funny place to enforce them.”
He folded his hands. “You violated the law.”
“And you enforced it selectively,” I shot back. “Or did your association suddenly forget 1929?”
A flicker.
Just a flicker.
Then—
The room shook.
“LET HER GO.”
Alex burst through the door like a man who had burned all his bridges behind him. His tie was gone. His eyes were bloodshot. His hands were shaking—but not with fear.
With rage.
“You don’t get to arrest her,” he snapped. “Not when my family started this.”
Thorne’s gaze sharpened. “This is not your concern, Mr. Rockefeller.”
“It is,” Alex said hoarsely, pulling out a flash drive. “Because I found the original trades. The ghost orders. The forged circulars. My great-grandfather didn’t just destroy the Sterlings—he built our entire trust on it.”
Silence fell like a guillotine.
Lena whispered, “Professor… is that true?”
Thorne didn’t answer her.
Instead, he looked at me.
“You’re right,” he said slowly. “We don’t want to imprison you.”
I arched a brow. “That’s a new strategy.”
“We want to recruit you.”
The words landed harder than chains.
“Only vampires can track vampire financial crimes,” Thorne continued. “You see the blood. The memory. The hidden flows. We offer you immunity—conditional. In exchange, you help us dismantle supernatural market abuse.”
I stared at him.
Then I smiled.
“Tempting,” I said. “But no.”
I slammed my palm onto the table.
The Blood-Debt Ledger erupted in light.
Pages flipped violently, stopping at 1929.
Numbers burned into the air.
Accounts. Transfers. Short positions placed minutes before the crash.
Signed.
By the Vampire Hunter Association.
“You didn’t stop the Great Depression,” I said softly. “You profited from it.”
The hunters drew weapons.
Alex stepped in front of me.
A blade flashed.
Blood sprayed.
His blood.
It hit my lips before I could stop myself.
The world shattered.
I tasted guilt. Generations of stolen wealth. But also—regret. Self-loathing. A boy raised to believe power excused everything, now drowning in the truth.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, swaying.
I caught him.
Held him.
For a moment, hatred didn’t know where to go.
We ran.
Central Park blurred as we tore through hidden gates and wards until stone replaced soil.
The vampire cemetery lay beneath the roots of dead trees.
I knew which coffin was his.
My father’s.
I opened it.
Inside—
No body.
Just a contract.
Modern. Crisp.
A Merger & Acquisition Agreement.
Sterling Holdings.
Acquired.
Buyer’s signature at the bottom.
Alex’s grandfather.
My hands trembled.
The past hadn’t ended.
It had been bought.
And sold.
Again.