Chapter 14 #3
He is leaning against the desk with his arms folded.
Proud.
Not subtle.
I roll my eyes.
“Could the Blackwell men admire me after I finish?”
Senior actually laughs.
Only once.
It changes his whole face.
I suddenly see where Xavier's dimple comes from.
I point.
“There.”
Both men look confused.
“The dimple.”
Senior immediately stops smiling.
Xavier's mouth curves.
“Genetic.”
“Tragic.”
“Sabine.”
I sit again.
“Give me another twenty minutes.”
Senior looks at the screens.
“For what?”
“To make sure your twenty-six-year sleeper didn't leave friends behind.”
This time when I ask for access, he gives it without arguing.
Progress.
Glinchesvsky talks the next morning.
Not to me.
Xavier won't let me near him.
We argue about that for twenty-three minutes.
I lose.
Marriage is imperfect.
The evidence does the work anyway.
Glinchesvsky had been recruited as a young intelligence asset near the end of the Soviet era, moved through networks that later became connected to Russian foreign intelligence, then embedded himself deeply enough inside Blackwell security that nobody ever questioned why the perfect protector always seemed to be exactly where he needed to be.
Papa questioned it.
Papa discovered the hidden access into ARGUS.
He created the second key to preserve evidence outside the system Glinchesvsky controlled.
Glinchesvsky revoked Papa's access.
Then arranged the boating accident.
My father died because he found the ghost hiding inside Blackwell.
For years, I blamed the building.
The name.
The family.
The wrong ghost.
I don't cry when Xavier tells me.
Not immediately.
I sit beside him in the dark room where Papa's hidden audit layer still glows across the screens.
My hands remain folded in my lap.
“So he killed him.”
“Yes.”
“Your father didn't know.”
“No.”
“You didn't know.”
“No.”
I look at Xavier.
“I spent years hating you.”
“You spent several weeks hating me.”
“Emotionally, it was very intense.”
His mouth almost moves.
Then I break.
One tear.
Then another.
Xavier pulls me into him.
No words.
He knows.
He always knows when words make things worse.
I cry for Papa.
For the years.
For the girl who turned grief into code because code could be solved.
For the fact that the answer finally exists and still cannot bring him back.
Xavier holds me until I can breathe again.
When I finally pull away, his thumb wipes beneath my eyes.
“Done?”
“No.”
“Good answer.”
“I'll probably cry again later.”
“Allowed.”
“Very generous.”
“I try.”
I look toward the screens.
“What happens to ARGUS?”
“That depends.”
“On?”
“You.”
I frown.
“No.”
“What?”
“I am not working for Blackwell.”
Senior's voice comes from the doorway.
“Excuse me?”
I turn.
Naturally.
He has the timing of a villain even when he isn't one.
“I said I'm not working for you.”
“You just accomplished in one day what several divisions failed to accomplish in weeks.”
“Exactly. My rates would be offensive.”
Xavier smiles.
Senior ignores him.
“You have unique familiarity with ARGUS.”
“I also have unique familiarity with your son. Neither requires employment.”
“Sabine.”
“No.”
Senior folds his arms.
“You are a Blackwell now.”
I look at my ring.
“Legally.”
Xavier's brow lifts.
I glance at him.
“Romantically too.”
“Better.”
Senior closes his eyes.
“I am beginning to regret this marriage.”
“You're late,” Xavier says.
Senior points toward me.
“You still need a postnuptial agreement.”
“Fine.”
Both men go silent.
Xavier turns.
“Fine?”
“Yes.”
His brows draw together.
“You've been fighting every lawyer who mentions it.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Why?”
“I don't want your money.”
Senior says immediately, “Excellent.”
I look at him.
“I want the plane.”
Xavier stares.
“You hate flying.”
“I am evolving.”
His father rubs his forehead.
“The aircraft is held through a corporate structure.”
“Then put one in the postnup.”
“Sabine.”
“What? I married well.”
Xavier laughs.
Senior looks as though he misses the days when his largest problem was espionage.
Then he says, “Why did you marry him?”
Xavier turns toward his father.
“Don't.”
“No, I genuinely want to know.”
I think.
“Insufferable.”
Xavier folds his arms.
“Strong start.”
“Dry wit.”
“Better.”
“Occasionally useful.”
“Sabine.”
I sigh.
“Fine. Excellent abdomen.”
Senior's eyes close.
“One extremely unfair dimple.”
“Sabine.”
“Very good mouth.”
Senior puts up a hand.
“Enough.”
Xavier looks at me.
“I wasn't finished.”
“I know.”
His eyes darken.
I immediately remember several reasons the mouth deserves mention.
Wrong room.
I clear my throat.
“Anyway. Not espionage.”
Senior looks between us.
“You expect me to believe you didn't marry Xavier to infiltrate Blackwell?”
“I had already infiltrated Blackwell.”
Silence.
I shrug.
“Marriage would have been an inefficient strategy.”
Xavier's mouth twitches.
Senior exhales.
“I walked into that.”
“Yes.”
He looks at his son.
“The two of you are impossible.”
“Genetic,” Xavier says.
“I am not related to her.”
“Marriage.”
“Do not start.”
I smile.
For the first time, sitting inside the heart of the company I once believed destroyed my father, I don't feel the need to run.
That is strange.
Maybe healing always is.
Three days later, Xavier finds me staring through the glass wall of his Monaco office.
Mediterranean blue below.
Yachts in the harbor.
Sunlight over everything.
I have been thinking.
Dangerous.
He recognizes the signs.
“What?”
“Nothing.”
“Sabine.”
I continue looking outside.
“I am not working for your father.”
“We established that.”
“I'm not working for you either.”
“I didn't ask.”
“You were going to.”
“No.”
“You were thinking it.”
He comes to stand beside me.
“Maybe.”
“And I'm not going back to black-market contracts.”
His head turns.
That surprises him.
Good.
“Why?”
“Because getting kidnapped once was enough.”
“Agreed.”
“But I am also not staying home painting my toenails.”
“I've never seen you paint your toenails.”
“Exactly.”
I turn toward him.
“What if we start our own company?”
Xavier goes very still.
There.
Got him.
“Our own what?”
“Cyber intelligence.”
He continues staring.
I start pacing because now that I've said it, everything arrives at once.
“Not Blackwell. Not government intelligence. Not criminals. We choose the work.”
“Sabine.”
“Listen.”
“I am.”
“Cyber defense. Threat identification. Recovery. Private investigations where legal. Corporate intelligence. People hire us when nobody else can find the breach.”
Xavier's expression changes.
Interested now.
“We don't build another ARGUS.”
“No.”
“We don't sell mass surveillance.”
“No.”
“We don't work for anyone who wants us to disappear political opponents or spy on girlfriends.”
“Strong policy.”
“Thank you.”
I keep going.
“You understand the systems nobody else can penetrate.”
“So do you.”
“Yes, but differently.”
He knows exactly what I mean.
Xavier builds fortresses.
I find the window everyone forgot existed.
“You find ghosts,” I tell him.
His eyes stay on me.
“I become them.”
Something slow moves across his face.
I know that look.
Ghost likes the idea.
Xavier is already modeling revenue, risk and operating structure in his head.
“You've thought about this.”
“For approximately eleven minutes.”
“Terrifying.”
“Imagine what I can do with an hour.”
A voice comes from behind us.
“No.”
We both turn.
Senior stands in the doorway.
I look at Xavier.
“You people really need to knock.”
His father ignores me.
“You are not leaving Blackwell.”
Xavier lifts one brow.
“That sounded emotional.”
“It is practical.”