Chapter 31
Chapter Thirty-One
Brie
Jake and I sit in the surveillance van parked half a block from Gramercy Tavern.
Despite its sophisticated interior, the space feels cramped.
Banks of monitors line one wall, showing feeds from cameras Quinn’s running remotely from the KOAN ops hub.
The audio equipment hums quietly, pulling in conversations from the wire Adrien’s wearing—a nearly invisible device threaded through his shirt collar.
“Target approaching from the south,” Noah’s voice crackles through my earpiece.
He’s positioned as a jogger in Gramercy Park, giving him clear sight lines to the restaurant’s main entrance.
Jake sits beside me, eyes fixed on the screens, his finger tapping the comms console.
This is the third assignment I’ve worked with Jake. He flew in last night to assist today.
I lean forward, adjusting the audio levels as Elena Vasquez comes into view on monitor three.
She moves with the fluid confidence of someone who’s never doubted her place in the world—elegant gray coat, designer handbag, silver hair perfectly styled despite the October wind.
Two men flank her at a discreet distance, clearly security aiming to blend in.
“She brought backup,” I murmur into my comm unit.
“Copy that,” Hudson’s voice responds from command, monitoring from KOAN’s mobile relay a few blocks out. “Quinn, are you picking up any electronic interference?”
“Negative,” she replies through the comm—her voice faint, piped in from the ops hub’s digital feed. “If they’re jamming, it’s passive.”
Through the restaurant’s front windows, I watch Elena enter and speak briefly with the hostess. Adrien sits at a corner table, visible through the large windows facing the street—exactly where we want him for optimal surveillance coverage.
The audio crackles to life as Elena approaches his table.
“Mr. d’Avricourt.” Her voice carries a slight Boston accent, blended with New York speed.
“Ms. Vasquez. Thank you for agreeing to meet.”
“Of course. Please, sit.”
I close my eyes, listening to the subtle sounds of chairs moving, the clink of water glasses. Elena’s voice again, warmer now, the tone of someone settling into familiar territory.
“I understand you’re looking to replace an employee.”
“Word travels fast in certain circles.” Adrien’s response is measured, professional. We rehearsed this—keep her talking, get her comfortable, then gradually probe for information about her buyers.
“In my business, information is currency. Your...former associate...was quite valuable to my organization. I assume you’d prefer to maintain the relationship rather than see it dissolve entirely.”
My fingers tighten around the audio controls. She’s talking about Eddie like a business asset, which he essentially was. The casual way she discusses human intelligence sources makes my skin crawl—it’s everything I hated about the darker side of the CIA.
“That depends entirely on the terms,” Adrien says. “And on understanding exactly what kind of business relationship this would be.”
“Straightforward consulting. I have clients who value certain types of information—market trends, regulatory insights, personal details that affect business decisions. Your establishment provides a unique vantage point for observing the intersection of power and...vulnerability.”
Through the restaurant window, I watch Elena gesture subtly with her hands, her body language open and confident. She believes she’s in control of this conversation.
“And the recent unpleasantness with the senator?” Adrien asks.
Elena’s laugh carries clearly through the audio feed. “Senator Crawford represents exactly the kind of challenge my clients appreciate. A man with principles who can be...encouraged...to see reason through proper motivation.”
“Is that common? Using personal indiscretions to influence legislative votes?”
“Mr. d’Avricourt, you’d be amazed how often personal failings prove useful in political negotiations. Though I must say, sexual impropriety is becoming less effective these days. People are so much more forgiving of human nature than they used to be.”
One of Elena’s security team moves closer to the restaurant window, speaking into what appears to be a phone but is probably a communication device. Through the monitors, I watch him scan the street methodically. He pauses mid-scan, eyes catching on the reflection from our windshield.
“He’s clocking us,” I whisper.
“Confirm visual?” Hudson asks.
“Tall guy, dark coat—north-facing window reflection. He’s narrowing in.”
The security man continues his scan, then speaks again into his device. On the audio feed, Elena’s voice shifts subtly—still pleasant, but with an edge of alertness.
“I’m curious, Mr. d’Avricourt. This conversation feels somewhat...official. Are we being recorded?”
Shit. She knows.
Adrien’s response comes smoothly, as we practiced. “In my business, discretion is everything. I wouldn’t risk that lightly.”
“Of course not.” But Elena’s tone has cooled considerably. “Still, I find myself wondering if you’re the only interested party in this conversation.”
Through the window, I watch her reach into her handbag—a motion that might be innocent, but still tightens my focus. Her security detail has already shifted, one moving toward the restaurant’s side exit, the other holding position on the street.
“There’s no need for concern,” Adrien says. “I’m simply trying to understand the scope of your operation. How extensive is your network? How many sources like Eddie do you maintain? How often do you plan on calling upon me?”
“Mr. d’Avricourt.” Elena’s voice carries warning now. “I think you’re underestimating the delicacy of what you’re proposing. The kind of information I broker comes with significant risks. Dead man’s switches. Safeguards. Insurance policies that protect everyone involved.”
“Including yourself.”
“Especially myself.” I can hear the smile in her voice, but it’s sharp like a blade.
“You see, I’ve built something quite remarkable over the years.
A network that touches the highest levels of government, business, international relations.
If anything were to happen to me—arrest, accident, unexpected disappearance—certain files would automatically be released.
Files that would destroy careers, topple governments, collapse markets. ”
“That’s quite a claim.”
“It’s not a claim; it’s a guarantee. Ask your senator friend about the scope of my reach. His little indiscretion is barely worthy of a footnote compared to what I know about his colleagues.”
Through the audio, I hear the scrape of a chair. Elena is standing.
“I think this meeting has run its course,” she says. “You’re clearly not serious about a business relationship. And I suspect you have friends listening who are far too interested in my affairs.”
This is falling apart. Elena’s about to walk, and we’ll lose our only direct connection to whoever’s targeting Crawford and others. I make a decision that goes against every protocol Hudson established.
“Jake, I’m going in.”
Hudson’s voice flares in my ear—from command, tinny with distance. “Negative, Brie. Hold.”
“She’s walking—give me sixty seconds. I can salvage.”
Jake’s jaw tightens but he doesn’t stop me. “You’ve got eyes,” he murmurs.
I’m already moving, stripping off my earpiece and adjusting my appearance quickly—loose hair, different posture, the persona of someone who belongs in this upscale restaurant environment. Jake gives me a silent thumbs up and zeroes in on the monitors.
“Brie, do not compromise position.” Hudson’s voice follows me, but I’m already out of the van. Cold air sharpens my breath as I cross the street. The traffic slows at the intersection and the bite of exhaust mixes with roasted chestnuts from the corner cart.
The restaurant’s interior buzzes with lunchtime conversation and the clink of silverware against china. It’s the subtle hum of Manhattan power dining in a hallowed room with Kushner’s Cornucopia, a colorful piece that feeds the energy.
I spot Adrien and Elena immediately—he’s calm composure in a charcoal suit, she’s poise sharpened to diamond precision, already half-turned to leave while he remains seated, measured, performing patience.
I approach with the confident stride of someone who belongs here, someone who has every right to interrupt.
“Darling, I’m so sorry I’m late.” I lean down to kiss Adrien’s cheek, selling the performance while positioning myself to face Elena directly. “Traffic was absolutely brutal.”
Elena’s eyes narrow as she assesses this new variable. Her gaze travels from my face to my posture to the way I positioned myself—searching for tells that would identify my true purpose.
“Ms. Vasquez, isn’t it?” I extend my hand with a warm smile. “I’m Brie. Adrien mentioned you might be able to help with our little problem.”
“Your little problem?”
“The competition.” I settle into the chair across from her, occupying space deliberately, giving her a choice: reclaim dominance or appear uncertain. She sits.
“You know how it is in tech. Everyone’s always trying to steal designs, poach talent, undercut pricing.
Adrien tells me you have a gift for acquiring the kind of information that keeps businesses ahead of their rivals.
” I keep my tone conspiratorial, the kind of admiration women trade when they both know the cost of playing in men’s worlds.
Elena is sitting, but her posture remains guarded—shoulders poised, fingers resting on the rim of her glass like a pianist ready to strike a chord. “And what makes you think I’d be interested in tech industry espionage?”
“Because you’re already doing it.” I lean forward conspiratorially. “You branched out. The depositions from antitrust cases provide invaluable insights. Your old boss wasn’t interested in expanding, but you recognized value and opportunity.”