Chapter 10
Katerina
The man on the other end of the phone does not sound angry. That unsettles me more than shouting would have.
“This is unnecessary,” he says evenly.
Hawk stands beside me, close enough that I feel the heat from his body. One of the escorts groans softly where he’s pinned against the railing. The other stays very still, wrist bent at an unnatural angle. No one else has drawn a weapon. That is intentional. They still need me cooperative.
“Your men initiated physical contact,” Hawk says into the phone. His tone is measured, not heated. “I responded proportionally.”
“Again, you are complicating a transaction that does not concern you,” the voice replies.
“It concerns me now.”
I close my eyes for half a second. He is stepping into something he doesn’t fully understand. And he is doing it without hesitation.
“You’ve delayed long enough, Katerina,” the voice continues. “The suite upstairs is prepared. The buyers are ready. The shipment awaits authentication.”
The shipment … upstairs, probably behind reinforced glass and private security. This is the last moment to stop it.
“I will not clear anything,” I say calmly, “unless my companion accompanies me.”
There is a pause long enough for the air to tighten around us.
“That is not the agreement,” the voice says.
“Neither was attempting to intercept me,” I reply.
Another pause. He is recalculating risk. They could restrain me. Threaten me. Force me. But if I lock down and refuse biometric clearance, the transaction stalls indefinitely.
They do not have override. If they did, they would have used it.
“You are overestimating your position,” he says softly.
“No,” I answer. “I am correctly assessing yours.”
Hawk’s presence at my side shifts the balance. They can remove me. They can silence me. But if I disappear before clearance, suspicion expands outward — into buyers, into partners, into competing interests.
They need a clean transfer. They need my cooperation.
“You bring him,” I say, my voice steady. “Or I leave.”
“You will not leave the building,” he replies.
I let a fraction of steel enter my tone.
“Try me.”
The man on the other end exhales. It’s a small sound of annoyance, not panic.
“Very well,” he says at last. “But understand, this does not alter the outcome. Both of you will be escorted to the suite.”
Hawk’s fingers brush lightly against the small of my back. He’s giving me reassurance … and warning.
“Understood,” I reply.
The line goes dead. The escorts do not attempt retaliation. They stand slowly, adjusting jackets, resetting posture as if this is merely a scheduling inconvenience. One of them gestures toward the private elevator at the end of the mezzanine.
“This way.”
Hawk does not lower his guard. He stays close … too close. And I realize something I was not prepared for. I want him here. Not because he is useful. Because when he stood between me and their pressure, he chose to risk himself for me. And that changes everything.
As we walk toward the elevator, I feel compelled to tell him everything, but I can’t.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I murmur under my breath.
“Yes,” Hawk replies quietly. “I did.”
“They may kill me once they use me for what they want. Once I clear it, I become a liability.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of it makes my throat tighten.
“And you?” I ask.
“I adjust.”
The elevator doors slide open with their polished interior and mirrored walls. No cameras visible. Which means there are many.
We step inside. The escorts do not enter. That tells me everything. The doors close with a muted seal.
As the elevator begins to rise, I feel the weight of what waits above us. The diamonds. The scanners. The processors hidden beneath compliance hardware. And soon, the man who believes he controls all of it.
I have stalled long enough. Now I must decide how far I am willing to go to stop it. And whether I am willing to risk the one variable I never planned for … Hawk.
The elevator doors open onto a silence that’s uncomfortable. Despite my best effort, my heart is racing. This is a place that holds a potential for disaster.
The suite stretches wide and immaculate with floor-to-ceiling glass, muted lighting, and polished marble beneath our feet.
At the center of the room, a long glass table holds three open cases of diamonds.
They are real and probably the best grade.
But they’re cold … as chilling as the air feels right now in this expansive room.
At the far end of the table sits a man who looks like he’s in charge — most likely the one from the phone. He’s wearing an expensive designer gray suit with a purple shirt and silver tie that matches his hair color. His posture is relaxed, but measured. He does not stand.
“Thank you for joining us,” he says calmly.
There are five others in the room. Two seated. Two positioned along the walls. One standing near the main man. No one reaches for a weapon. They don’t need to. Not yet.
“You’re late,” he continues.
“I was being thorough, making sure I wasn’t being tailed.” I reply.
His eyes glance briefly at Hawk.
“And this is?”
“Insurance,” Hawk answers evenly.
The director studies him for a moment longer than necessary. Then nods once.
“You may observe,” he says. “But you will not interfere.”
Hawk does not respond. I step toward the table. The certification scanner sits beside the diamond cases. It has matte black casing with a biometric pad flush along its surface.
Underneath that compliance shell is a restricted processor capable of distributed modeling — military-grade, export-controlled, hidden in plain sight.
“Begin,” the director says.
I place my hand on the biometric pad. Warm glass beneath my palm. My pulse is still elevated. This is the moment. If I authenticate normally the shipment clears as processors disperse and the funds are released. Gone and failed mission.
If I stall again, they’ll detain me and force compliance.
But there is a third option. I enter the authorization sequence and watch as the screen blooms to life. It’s a digital ledger, blockchain style with a transaction window.
The men at the table lean slightly forward. They believe this is the final act. It is. Just not theirs.
I adjust the sequence subtly. One additional flag. One embedded marker. Now, there’s one irreversible audit trail that triggers international compliance review once the transaction attempts to settle.
It’s not immediately visible or obvious. But lethal to a “clean” transfer.
The system prompts:
CONFIRM AUTHENTICATION?
I glance once at Hawk. He’s watching me, not the other men or the director. He’s watching me. His eyes narrow slightly and I hope it’s not confusion … but understanding. He shifts his stance almost imperceptibly. Hand near his jacket pocket. Ready.
I press confirm. The system processes.
Three seconds.
Four.
Five.
The men exchange glances. The director remains still. Then … the ledger locks. A small red indicator appears in the corner of the screen.
COMPLIANCE REVIEW INITIATED
The room doesn’t understand it immediately. The director does. His composure fractures by a hairline crack.
“What did you do?” he asks quietly.
“I cleared it,” I reply.
The red indicator multiplies. Secondary flag. Tertiary notification. The transaction cannot settle. Funds freeze. Global compliance audit triggered.
The processors are now radioactive. The men at the table stand abruptly.
“What is this?” one demands.
The director rises slowly.
“You’ve made a mistake,” he says to me.
“No,” I answer calmly. “You did.”
He turns to the security standing.
“Contain them.”
That is the moment. Hawk moves before the first guard reaches us. His hand disappears into his jacket and emerges with a compact cylindrical device.
He drops it at his feet.
A sharp crack detonates the air — not deafening, but disorienting.
Dense white smoke blooms outward instantly, hopefully not lethal or blinding. Guards cough as I cover my mouth and nose, running to Hawk’s side.
The men at the table shout as one reaches blindly toward the table. Hawk grabs my wrist.
“Move.”
The smoke stings my throat almost immediately. I cough, vision blurring as alarms begin to scream overhead.
Through the haze I hear the director’s voice — no longer calm.
“Secure the scanner!”
Too late. Hawk kicks the device off the table as we retreat. It clatters across the floor.
We reach the elevator doors. One of the guards lunges, pulling his firearm through the haze. Hawk pivots, strikes cleanly, drops him without hesitation and takes his gun. The smoke thickens. I can barely see and my lungs burn.
The elevator doors open and we stumble inside. He hits the lower level button. The doors close just as silhouettes move toward us through the fog.
The elevator descends. My chest heaves as I cough the smoke from my lungs. Hawk pulls me closer instinctively, one arm braced around my shoulders.
“You all right?” he asks.
I nod, still coughing.
“They can’t reverse it,” I manage.
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.”
The building alarms wail above us. Compliance review cannot be undone. The processors are flagged. The transaction is burned. For the first time since stepping into this building, we won.
The elevator slows, but the danger isn’t over. Not even close.