Chapter 3 - The Billionaire's Interrogation and the Secret Buried in Her Eyes
Ten minutes later, the Halcyon Grand was locked down.
My private security unit had neutralized the man in gray and the woman in burgundy without firing a single shot in the main hall. To the three hundred oblivious socialites upstairs, the brief flickering of the chandeliers was just a minor technical glitch. The champagne kept flowing, the jazz quartet kept playing, and the speeches continued uninterrupted.
Down in the sub-basement security suite, three assassins were bound to steel chairs, monitored by Finn and four armed operators.
I stood in my private mobile command trailer parked in the underground loading dock. Mara sat on a leather bench across from me, a glass of water—which she finally drank—held in both hands. She had slipped back into her heels. The only sign of the violent struggle was a faint smudge of graphite on the hem of her black gown.
Finn entered the trailer, holding a secure encrypted tablet. His face was grim.
"The three shooters carry untraceable gear," Finn reported, his eyes darting suspiciously toward Mara. "Ceramic knives, burner comms coded to a local relay tower, zero IDs, shaved fingertips. But the comm logs show a single outgoing transmission sent five minutes before the speech: Target located. Wexler gave green light."
I felt a surge of cold fury. "Donald Wexler. The CEO of Wexler Meridian."
"The very man whose guest list included Ms. Vale," Finn added pointedly. He looked at Mara. "Care to explain how a consultant from an investment firm knows how to dismantle a professional wet-work squad in under ten seconds?"
Mara set her glass down on the glass coffee table. The click echoed in the quiet room.
"Donald Wexler didn't hire me to consult on his portfolio," Mara said, looking straight into my eyes. "He hired my firm six weeks ago to perform an internal audit on Wexler Meridian's classified defense acquisitions. Three days ago, I discovered he was siphoning eighty million dollars from an off-the-books account into a mercenary broker called the Obsidian Syndicate."
I leaned forward, resting my elbows on my knees. "Why would Wexler hire killers to take me out at my own charity gala?"
"Because your pediatric foundation isn't just building clinics," Mara answered softly. "You recently acquired the patent for the Bio-Shield neural delivery system through your biotech branch. Wexler needed that patent to fulfill a hundred-million-dollar black-market contract in Eastern Europe. As long as you were alive, the board of directors would never authorize the sale of the patent."
I stared at her. The Bio-Shield project was top secret—only three people in the world knew its true potential.
"How do you know about Bio-Shield?" I asked, my voice dropping an octave.
"Because before I was a consultant," Mara replied, her gray-green eyes unblinking, "I was the extraction operative who recovered the original research from the Kiev biolab two years ago. I know what that technology does, Dante. And I know that if Wexler gets his hands on it, thousands will die."
Finn reached for his sidearm, but I raised my hand, stopping him instantly.
There was something in Mara's gaze—a fierce, unyielding integrity that money couldn't buy. She hadn't come to the gala to assist the hit; she had come to intercept it.
"You knew Wexler would move tonight," I said.
"I knew he had hired the best," she replied. "What I didn't know was whether you were smart enough to survive it. Turns out, you almost didn't."
A slow smirk played on my lips despite the danger. "Then it’s a good thing you didn't wear any jewelry tonight."
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"Diamonds make too much noise when you move," Mara said calmly.
"Finn," I commanded without taking my eyes off her. "Get the armored convoy ready. We’re moving to the Lakefront Penthouse. And Ms. Vale is coming with us."
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