Chapter 23
My leg hurt like hell.
Three days had passed since Oklahoma. Three days since Hardin's laptop had given us everything we needed. Three days of watching my empire bleed out while I smiled for cameras and pretended I wasn't planning murder.
The elevator doors opened onto the Diamond level, and every head in the corridor turned.
I let them look. Let them see the silver-tipped cane striking marble with each step, the set of my jaw, the cold fury I wasn't bothering to hide.
Their fear hung in the air, sharp and acrid beneath expensive cologne.
Maxime moved half a step behind me, half a step to the right.
Inside the conference room, they were waiting.
Patterson and Hendrik sat at the obsidian table, Xavier at the far end, his orange and blue hair like a middle finger to corporate conformity.
Reid stood in his corner, watching security feeds.
The conversation died the instant I walked in.
"Status," I said. No preamble. I didn't have time for bullshit.
Patterson started talking before I'd even reached my chair. "Pentagon suspended all contracts. Stock's down sixty-eight percent. Three board members resigned. The FBI wants our files."
"Requested or demanded?"
"Requested." Rebecca Marchand adjusted her glasses. "For now."
"Then let them push." I lowered myself into the chair, biting back a grunt as my hip screamed. Maxime's hand twitched at his side because he'd noticed. Of course he had.
I turned to Xavier. "What's the latest?"
My son's fingers moved across his keyboard, and schematics filled the main display. "Hardin's intel checked out. The prototype is on sublevel three of the Golden Dragon. But Shaw moved up the timeline. Three days instead of two weeks."
"He’s running scared," Reid observed.
"Or capitalizing on momentum." Maxime's words cut through the room. "Oklahoma footage is everywhere. Every buyer on Shaw's list just watched what they think is the Banshee in action."
"Which brings us to the part that matters." Xavier leaned forward. "The weapon used in Oklahoma wasn't our prototype. Shaw cannibalized his own failed demo unit. Stripped out the targeting systems, removed every safety, turned it into a bomb. One shot, maximum destruction, zero control."
"So he destroyed his own prototype to frame us," Reid said.
"He sacrificed it to demonstrate capability. Shows buyers the Oklahoma footage, claims it's the Banshee, sells them his inferior design while he keeps trying to crack the real one." Xavier's eyes found mine. "The Macau auction is his only play now."
Patterson cleared his throat. "This proves it wasn't our technology."
"Tell that to the families of nine hundred dead Oklahomans." The words came out cold. "The public doesn't care about technical distinctions."
Sloane Matsuda spoke from near the communications equipment. "Social media's calling for criminal charges. Three senators want your arrest. Blackburn mentioned 'corporate manslaughter' an hour ago."
Maxime took a deep breath. "Three-pronged approach. Legal containment, corporate restructuring, technological differentiation."
I watched him take control of the room the same way he'd taken control of a thousand rooms before.
"Marchand, full legal defense by morning. Focus on the distinction between our technology and Shaw's weapon." He turned to Patterson. "Draft a restructuring proposal. We may need to take the company private."
"I can prove conclusively our tech wasn't used," Xavier added. "My team compiled documentation showing the Oklahoma weapon was Shaw's design, not ours."
For thirty years, I'd been the unquestioned authority in this room. Now, watching my son and Maxime seamlessly crafting a survival strategy, I found myself considering possibilities I'd never entertained before.
"Implement it," I said. "Both of you. Take point on corporate response. I'll focus on Shaw."
Surprise rippled through the room. I'd never delegated this level of control during a crisis.
"You and Xavier have this handled." I held Maxime's gaze. "I trust your judgment."
Something passed between them. Assessment. Grudging respect. Good.
"Now, Shaw." I shifted my weight, and pain lanced up my leg. "Based on Hardin's files, the auction is hosting twelve interested parties. Four nation-states, three terrorist organizations, five PMCs."
"Reid's team deploys in twenty-four hours," Maxime said. "Four-person infiltration. Reid leading, Archer for digital countermeasures, Callum for field support."
"I can provide real-time technical assistance remotely," Xavier offered.
"Maxime and I follow on a separate flight. Once the prototype is secured, we ensure Shaw is no longer a threat."
The subtext hung in the air. Shaw wouldn't survive this encounter.
"Prepare the operation," I ordered. "Full briefing package. Cover identities. Equipment."
Patterson cleared his throat. "The board will require notification."
"Any member who objects can tender their resignation immediately."
No one spoke. They understood that Lucky Losers existed because I willed it to exist.
"We reconvene at 0600. Dismissed."
They filed out. Only Xavier, Reid, and Maxime remained.
"Real casualty numbers," I said once we were alone. "Not the public figures."
Reid's expression darkened. "One thousand seventy-eight confirmed dead. The government is suppressing the full count. Another four hundred thirty-two in critical condition."
Fifteen hundred men, women, and children all dead to send me a message.
"Maxime. Establish a victims' fund. One billion initial allocation. Every affected family taken care of. No hospital bills. No funeral expenses. Full support for long-term care."
"I'll arrange it. No red tape. Direct support."
"Xavier." I turned to my son. "Your expertise is essential to Reid's team."
He studied me. "It's going to be dangerous. Shaw's proven he bleeds."
For an instant, doubt flickered. Could I ask this of my son?
"Which is why we stop him before he sells any version of this technology."
Xavier ran a hand through his bright hair. "I said I'd help you stop Shaw. Don't mistake this for reconciliation. I'm here for the mission."
Something tightened in my chest. "Thank you."
The door closed behind him. Only Maxime remained.
He stood at the window, silhouetted against Cincinnati's skyline in the same posture he'd held for thirty-two years. That posture used to mean nothing.
Now it made something tighten low in my gut.
"You're planning to oversee the operation from Macau," he said.
"Yes. Command post separate from the infiltration team."
He turned from the window. "Shaw has demonstrated he's willing to kill thousands to get to you. He won't hesitate to eliminate you personally."
The concern in his voice caught me off guard, not because it existed but because he was finally letting me see it.
"Look at me," I said quietly.
He turned, his composed expression betrayed by the tightness around his eyes.
I moved toward him, each tap of my cane marking the distance between us. He remained still, and only the rapid rise and fall of his chest betrayed his reaction.
By the time I reached him, the air between us had grown thick. When I raised my hand, he leaned toward me.
My fingers hovered above his throat. "You're actually afraid. Not of operational failure. Of me dying."
"Yes."
My fingers made contact, tracing the spots where my teeth had marked him days earlier. His pulse jumped beneath my touch.
"In Tehran, you watched three assassins put bullets in my car without blinking. In Lagos, you finished your coffee while a bomb ticked down across the street." I increased the pressure against his throat. "But Shaw has you worried."
"Shaw is different. He knows you. Knows what matters to you."
I stepped closer and used my height to force him to tilt his head back. His back pressed against the window, trapped between glass and my body.
Instead of waiting for his answer, I gripped his chin and tilted his face up to mine.
And kissed him in the middle of Lucky Losers' executive floor.
His eyes went wide. A full-body tremor ran through him as decades of careful boundaries collapsed. His surprise lasted only a heartbeat before he surrendered, a guttural moan tearing from his chest as his lips parted under mine.
Let the cameras catch it. Let the board whisper. Shaw had already tried to weaponize our relationship with those photographs. I was done letting fear of exposure dictate how I touched what belonged to me.
My tongue invaded his mouth, taking what had always been denied in this building. When I bit his lower lip, he whimpered. His hips ground against mine.
When I finally pulled back, his lips were red, his eyes unfocused.
I traced one fading mark beneath his collar. "Shaw believes he can hurt me by exposing my past. By bombing a trailer park in Oklahoma." The words came out roughly. "He's attacking the wrong target."
I leaned in until my mouth was inches from his ear. "After Shaw is dead, I want a life. Not just Lucky Losers. Not just power. A life with the only person who's ever truly known me. That's what Shaw threatens. That's why he dies."
His hand found my wrist, pressing my fingers harder against his skin. "I've spent thirty-two years arranging your life. I've never considered what comes after."
"Then consider it now." I released him and watched him fight to regain composure.
He straightened and nodded.
"Before we leave for Macau, we should gather the family. Your sons. Their partners." I paused. "Tell them about us."
"Why now?"
"Because Shaw has shown us what we stand to lose. If we're going to risk everything, I want them to know the truth first." My hand caught his wrist. "This matters to me. That they know. That it's not hidden."
His fingers turned in my grip until our hands linked. "Then I'll make it happen."
For a moment, we remained connected. Then he withdrew and reached for his tablet.
"One more thing," I said as he reached the door.
He paused and looked back.
"When this is over. When Shaw is dead and the prototype recovered..." The words caught in my throat. But Shaw had taught me one thing: time was precious. I'd wasted too much already. "I want us to have a real life together. Whatever that looks like."
His eyes held mine. "Always. I'm already working on it."
The door closed behind him.
I turned to the window. Darkness was settling over Cincinnati. Somewhere across the Pacific, Shaw prepared for his auction, prepared to sell a weapon that could replicate Oklahoma's horror worldwide.
I wouldn't let that happen, even if it meant returning to the violence that had created me, even if it meant becoming Jackson Wheeler one more time.
I would do it to finally put him to rest for good.