The deadline was absolute. The digital clock on the wall read **59:00 MINUTES REMAINING**.
The entire family was gathered in the Master Suite. The curtains were drawn. The air was thick with tension.
William stood by the bed, holding a secure tablet connected to the Swiss banking interface. The screen flashed: **ENTER BIOMETRIC KEY.**
“We have the password,” William said, his voice tight. “Victoria decoded it. But it requires a rhythmic entry. The keystroke dynamics have to match Alistair’s specific cadence. I can’t type it. It has to be him.”
Beatrice stood in the corner, pale and supported by Malcolm, watching the husband she had paralyzed.
“He can’t move, William,” she whispered. “I made sure of it.”
“Watch,” Victoria said.
She leaned over Alistair. “It’s time, Alistair. You pay the debt. You free the family. And then… maybe you find some peace.”
Alistair stared at the tablet hovering inches from his face. The “Syndicate” account–the billions he had hoarded, the blood money of his past–was the only thing that could save his sons from prison.
He focused. The pain was immediate and blinding. It felt like sticking his arm into a furnace. A low, guttural groan escaped his throat, shocking Beatrice.
His right arm trembled. Slowly, agonizingly, his hand lifted off the mattress.
“Come on,” Malcolm whispered, watching his father fight his own body.
Alistair’s index finger extended. It hovered over the glass screen. He struck the first key.
*Tap.*
The screen flashed green. **ACCEPTED.**
He moved to the second. His arm shook so violently William had to steady the tablet to keep it from hitting him.
*Tap. Tap.*
He was sweating, gasping for air, tears of exertion leaking from his eyes. He wasn’t just typing a password; he was clawing his way back from the dead to perform one final act of protection.
“Last one, Dad,” William urged, his voice breaking. “Just one more.”
Alistair screamed–a raw, raspy sound of pure will–and drove his finger down onto the **ENTER** key.
The screen spun. **PROCESSING…**
**TRANSFER COMPLETE. DEBT SETTLED.**
Alistair’s arm collapsed. He fell back into the pillows, his chest heaving, his eyes finding Victoria’s. He had done it. The Golden Cage was open.