Chapter 12: Blood Doesn’t Build Thrones—But Secrets Do

Zurich was cold. Colder than I expected. But maybe that was fitting—this was, after all, where my future had been frozen in a vault for years. The bank sat between a pharmacy and a high-end watch store. No signs. No logos. Just polished glass and discreet security. I gave them my name. They gave me a key. And led me to Vault 317. Inside—just one object. A leather case, old but cared for. And a note. “If you’re reading this, I’m gone. But not by choice. Not all blood is clean,...