Chapter 6: The Whitehorse Gambit
The Sterling private jet knifed through clouds, its luxurious interior a stark contrast to the tension humming between its three passengers. Isabella watched the endless white expanse of the Yukon Territory unfold beneath them, her reflection ghostly in the window.
Alexander sat across from her, his eyes fixed on his laptop screen, fingers typing rapid-fire commands. He hadn't spoken since takeoff, the muscle in his jaw working overtime.
"The board is moving faster than anticipated," Vivian announced, ending a call on her encrypted phone. "They've called an emergency session for tomorrow morning instead of next week. They're claiming concern over 'leadership stability' in light of recent events."
"Recent events mean nearly getting blown up?" Isabella asked dryly.
"Meaning Evelyn's very public resurrection from the dead." Vivian's tone was clipped. "The Sterling family has always maintained a certain... mythology. Evelyn's return threatens that carefully constructed narrative."
Alexander looked up from his screen. "What's the board's play?"
"Your father's allies are pushing to invoke the incapacity clause. They're suggesting your judgment has been compromised."
"By what?" Isabella asked.
"By you." Vivian's gaze was unwavering. "The woman who accessed confidential company files fled the country with stolen documents, and was seen consorting with a dead Sterling."
Isabella's fingers curled into fists. "I was kidnapped."
"Semantics, in the boardroom." Vivian turned to Alexander. "They've frozen the Cayman accounts."
Alexander slammed his laptop shut. "Those bastards worked fast."
The plane shuddered as it began its descent toward Whitehorse. Isabella glanced at her watch—barely eighteen hours since the explosion. Her ribs throbbed with every breath, a persistent reminder of how close she'd come to death.
"There's something you're not telling us," she said suddenly, watching Alexander's face. "About Claire. About why you really sent me that text."
A tense silence stretched between them.
"Alexander," Vivian warned.
He ignored her. "Claire contacted me three days ago. Said she had proof my father was behind a series of... strategic accidents at our overseas facilities. Worker deaths dismissed as 'regrettable incidents.' Over two hundred of them."
Isabella's blood ran cold. "Mass murder."
"Industrial sabotage designed to drive down property values before acquisition," Alexander corrected, his voice hollow. "A Sterling family tradition."
"Why would Claire have that information?" Isabella asked.
"Because she was gathering evidence against my father for years. She wasn't just some random woman I met in Whitehorse." His expression darkened. "She was an investigative journalist working undercover."
The plane touched down with a jolt, skidding slightly on the icy runway.
"And you knew?" Isabella demanded.
"Not until she was already in the hospital." Alexander's eyes held hers. "By then, I'd already fallen in love with her."
The revelation hung in the air as the plane taxied to a halt. Isabella felt as if the oxygen had been sucked from the cabin.
"That's why your father had her attacked," she realized. "Not because of the baby, but because of what she knew."
"The baby complicated things." Alexander's voice was tight. "Father would never allow a journalist to bear a Sterling heir. But he also couldn't resist the potential of fresh blood in the family line. He was... obsessed with legacy."
A black SUV waited on the tarmac as they disembarked, the driver's features concealed behind dark glasses despite the gray winter day.
"Ms. Rodriguez?" the driver confirmed as Vivian approached.
"Yes. These are my associates."
The driver nodded, opening the rear door. "The old Martindale property, as requested."
Isabella slid into the vehicle, a chill that had nothing to do with the Yukon winter seeping into her bones. She'd made the call from the hospital bathroom, speaking in hushed tones to a burner number she'd memorized from Evelyn's phone.
I can get you to Thomas, but you need to trust me.
The voice on the other end had been familiar—the same one she'd heard in the cabin before the explosion. *Bring Alexander. Alone.*
She hadn't mentioned Vivian. A calculated risk.
The SUV wound through snow-covered streets, Whitehorse's modest skyline giving way to residential neighborhoods, then to stretches of pine forest. Alexander stared out the window, his expression distant.
"This isn't the way to the Martindale property," he said suddenly.
The driver made no response, maintaining a steady speed as they traveled deeper into the forest.
Isabella felt Vivian tense beside her. "Driver, did you hear Mr. Sterling? We appear to be going the wrong way."
The partition between them slid up, sealing them off from the front seat. Alexander lunged for the door handle—locked.
"I'm sorry," Isabella whispered as gas began hissing from the vents. "I had to know who was really behind this."
Alexander's eyes widened in betrayal as understanding dawned. "You—"
"Not her," Vivian corrected, pulling a slim gas mask from her briefcase and fitting it over her nose and mouth. "Me."
Isabella's vision blurred as the sedative took hold. The last thing she saw was Vivian calmly typing on her phone, seemingly sending a message:
*Package secured. En route to Blackwood.*
Consciousness returned slowly, like swimming up through molasses. Isabella blinked against harsh fluorescent lighting, her mouth desert-dry. She was seated in a hard wooden chair, her wrists zip-tied to the armrests.
"I'd offer you water, but I'm not convinced you wouldn't try to drown yourself with it."
Isabella raised her head to find Vivian standing before her, impeccable as always in a charcoal pantsuit. Behind her, a wall of security monitors displayed various angles of what appeared to be a medical facility.
"Where's Alexander?" Isabella croaked.
"Reuniting with his son." Vivian gestured to one of the monitors, where Alexander could be seen in a sterile room, cradling a small bundle. His face was transformed, and all the hard lines softened as he gazed down at the infant.
"Thomas," Isabella whispered.
"Edward's grand experiment." Vivian moved to a sleek console, tapping keys to bring up a new image on the central monitor—a laboratory where white-coated technicians moved between gleaming equipment. "Though 'Thomas' is merely the designation for this particular iteration."
Isabella's stomach dropped. "What are you talking about?"
"The Sterling bloodline has always been... carefully managed." Vivian approached Isabella, studying her with clinical interest. "Edward recognized certain genetic weaknesses in his own children. Alexander's impulsivity. Evelyn's instability. He sought to correct those flaws in the next generation."
"Through Thomas?" The implication was too horrifying to fully comprehend.
"Through a carefully designed genetic profile, using Claire as the carrier." Vivian smiled thinly. "She was selected for specific traits—intelligence, resilience, physical attributes that would complement and strengthen the Sterling genetic material."
"She was a journalist," Isabella protested.
"She was many things. Journalist. Genetic match. Convenient vessel." Vivian shrugged. "Edward was nothing if not efficient."
Isabella strained against her restraints. "You're talking about eugenics. Human experimentation."
"I'm talking about legacy." Vivian turned back to the monitors. "Project Blackwood has been developing for decades. Thomas is simply the first successful implementation."
"And Claire?" Isabella asked, dreading the answer.
"A complication. One that Edward instructed me to handle in the event of his death." Vivian checked her watch. "Which is why we're proceeding with the final phase."
"Final phase?"
"The transfer of Sterling International to its rightful heir." Vivian's smile was cold. "Not Alexander. Not Thomas. The one true Sterling successor."
Understanding crashed over Isabella like ice water. "You."
"Edward's most loyal servant. And his most successful experiment." Vivian rolled up her sleeve, revealing a small tattoo—the Sterling family crest, identical to the one Marcus had worn. "The first generation of the program. Before the genetic modifications were perfected."
"You're Edward's daughter."
I'm Edward's creation." Vivian's eyes hardened. "And I've spent my entire life preparing for tomorrow's board meeting."
A monitor flickered to life, showing Claire—very much alive and conscious—strapped to a hospital bed, IV lines snaking from her arms.
"Claire proved more resilient than anticipated," Vivian commented. "A trait we hoped would manifest in Thomas."
Isabella's mind raced. If Claire was alive and here, then who had been in the cabin? Who had sent the sonogram?
"The explosion—" she began.
"A necessary dramatic flourish." The voice came from behind her, achingly familiar. Isabella twisted in her chair as Evelyn Sterling stepped into view—very much alive, without a scratch. "You needed proper motivation to lead Alexander here."
Isabella's world tilted on its axis. "You faked your death."
"A Sterling family tradition." Evelyn smiled thinly. "Though father perfected the art."
"Edward is dead," Isabella insisted. "Heart attack. Six months ago."
"Is he?" Vivian asked softly.
On the largest monitor, a door opened in the laboratory. An elderly man in a wheelchair entered, attended by medical staff. Despite his frail appearance, his eyes were sharp and calculating.
Edward Sterling. is very much alive.
"Tomorrow," Edward's voice rasped through the speakers, "a new era begins for Sterling International. One unencumbered by the messy complications of family sentiment."
Isabella watched in horror as Alexander, still holding Thomas, was surrounded by armed guards on another monitor.
"What are you going to do with them?" she demanded.
Vivian and Evelyn exchanged glances.
"That," Evelyn said, "depends entirely on you."