Chapter 52 Ghost
GHOST
WE GATHER IN THE LIVING ROOM. GENEVA’S CURLED INTO ONE CORNER of the couch, arms crossed tight like she’s daring anyone to remind her she’s still healing. She hates being in time-out.
Sarah’s got her laptop open on the coffee table, tapping away with an energy I don’t trust. It’s not that I think she’ll screw us over, but I’m still not used to people helping without an ulterior motive.
Benedetto’s standing by the window, arms crossed, chewing on a toothpick like it’s a cigarette. He hasn’t said much since we all sat down, but I know him well enough to recognize when his silence is tactical.
“So?” I ask.
Sarah looks up. “It’s done.”
“Details?”
“I fed it to two of the biggest watchdogs in the country. One independent, one government-adjacent. Both credible and fast. They should be running with it by this evening. Anonymous source. Whistleblower leak. The works.”
I glance at Geneva as she gives Sarah a tight nod. “Thank you.”
Sarah nods back, then sighs. “It won’t take him down overnight. But it’ll light the fire.”
“It’ll do more than that,” I say. “This isn’t a scandal. It’s a fatal blow. Smuggling, mining violations, labor crimes, laundering—every dirty secret he’s kept buried under philanthropy and photo ops is about to go public.”
Benedetto finally speaks. “In case anyone’s wondering, yes, the hacker’s out. Fired. Disappeared. Whatever makes you sleep better. He won’t be touching any of my systems again.”
“It’s still your fault,” I mutter.
He shrugs. “True. You almost got sealed in that vault like a sarcophagus.”
“Yeah, well,” I say, leaning back, “if I’m going out, it’s not going to be locked in a metal box. It’s going to be while I’m inside my girl, fuckin—”
Geneva slaps my thigh. “I’m right here.”
I glance at her. She’s pale, but her glare is sharp. Alive. “You’re benched for forty-eight more hours.”
“Says who?”
“Me,” I say.
She opens her mouth, but Benedetto holds up a hand. “Let’s not act like you unbenched her last night.”
I ignore them both and reach into my bag, pulling out a velvet pouch and dropping it onto the table. It lands with a soft thud, but everyone knows exactly what’s inside.
The remaining diamonds.
Sarah raises an eyebrow. “You planning on selling those?”
“Nope,” I say. “I’m planting them.”
“His house?” Benedetto asks.
I shake my head. “His car. He’s got an armored Bentley he only uses for high-security events.
One of the few things he still keeps control over personally.
I’ve been watching it since we got back from New Orleans.
I know the driver’s rotation, the valet access, and the blind spots in the surveillance feed. ”
Sarah whistles. “And here I thought I was good at my job.”
“I don’t do press,” I say. “I do paranoia.”
Geneva rolls her eyes. “Of course you do.”
I ignore that. “The second he finds it, he’ll know it’s a message. Just like the one I left in the vault.”
“I wish I could be there when he finds the diamonds,” Geneva says.
“You’ll get satisfaction when he’s dead.”
“Is that part of the plan ready yet?”
I nod slowly. “Almost.”
Benedetto glances at me. He knows what almost means. I haven’t told them everything. Yet.
The truth is that I haven’t settled on whether Stanton’s death is going to be related to my own. Well, Ghost’s.
Because Liam is just about ready to make his debut.
Benedetto slams the microwave door shut and punches the popcorn button like he’s prepping for a damn movie premiere.
“You’re enjoying this way too much,” I mutter, pacing behind the couch.
He grins over his shoulder. “We’re about to watch a man’s world burn on national television. I need snacks.”
Sarah is sitting with her laptop open and three burner accounts queued on standby, ready to amplify whatever footage breaks first. She’s got this crazed look in her eye like she’s about to live-tweet the fall of a dynasty.
But it’s not her I’m watching.
It’s Geneva.
She sits at the edge of the couch, hands clasped between her knees, the cotton hem of her T-shirt twisted beneath her fingers. Her eyelashes catch the low light of the TV. Her mouth is set in that soft line she wears when she’s trying to convince herself she’s okay.
She’s not. Not really.
She’s healed enough to sit upright. To walk without flinching. To sass Benedetto again. But I know the difference between recovery and peace.
And she doesn’t have peace. Not yet. Hopefully someday.
Tonight is supposed to change everything. The truth, the exposure, the destruction of the man who tore her life apart from behind polished boardroom doors. But I’m watching her chest rise like she’s preparing to drown.
Benedetto tosses the popcorn bag onto the table with a dramatic flourish. “Showtime,” he says as the opening chime of the news broadcast rolls out of the speakers.
Geneva doesn’t blink. Doesn’t speak. She just leans forward like she’s bracing for an impact no one else in this room will feel the way she will. Which is true.
I settle beside her, close enough to feel her breath stutter. I don’t touch her. Not yet. I need to see what this does to her. If it rips her open or stitches something shut. Because this isn’t just about Stanton’s fall.
It’s about whether the truth will set her free, or if it’ll just prove that some ghosts can’t be banished.
“Breaking news tonight as explosive allegations emerge against prominent philanthropist and former energy executive Victor Stanton…”
A montage flashes across the screen—stock images of Stanton shaking hands with senators, cutting ribbons, giving keynote speeches.
Then the tone shifts. A leaked memo. A blurred video of a man hauling crates into an unregistered compound.
Financial statements with red circles and timestamps.
Even a satellite shot of one of his mines.
Benedetto whistles low. “Damn. She didn’t hold back.”
Sarah gives him a wolfish grin. “Why would I? He deserves every headline.”
I don’t say anything. I’m too focused on Geneva.
Her jaw flexes, teeth clenched. But her eyes—they’re glassy. Not from sadness. From the kind of vindication that doesn’t feel like victory. The kind that feels like standing over the ruins of your childhood home, knowing the fire wasn’t enough to kill the memories.
The reporter continues.
“… anonymous sources allege Stanton knowingly funneled funds through shell corporations linked to illegal mining operations across East Africa, using forced labor to extract diamonds later sold on the black market. An insider whistleblower has corroborated the data, suggesting a decades-long cover-up sanctioned by—”
Geneva exhales like she’s been holding her breath since the second her parents died. I move my hand to hers, slow and steady. She doesn’t pull away. Just laces our fingers together without looking at me.
Sarah’s still talking—something about the social media response, about viral hashtags and trending articles. Benedetto’s already halfway through the popcorn. But none of that matters.
Not to Geneva.
This was always more than headlines. This was blood. This was a nightmare. This was her standing on the ashes of her past and deciding whether she can live with the cost of justice.
“This is a full-blown inferno,” Sarah says, tapping her phone like she’s tracking stock prices. “There are three major donors already pulling out of his foundation. His press secretary hasn’t made a statement yet, which means they’re scrambling. He’s going to be radioactive by morning.”
Benedetto snorts. “By morning? He’s radioactive now. I’m surprised the guy hasn’t booked himself a one-way flight to nowhere and torched the Bentley on the way out.”
Sarah winks at me. “Nice touch with that.”
I give her a nod.
Benedetto tosses another handful of popcorn in his mouth. “So to recap: The world thinks he’s a monster, his inner circle’s running scared, and half the internet has already convicted him in the court of public opinion.”
“He’s fucked,” Sarah says.
“No lube, no safe word,” Benedetto agrees.
I lean back in my chair, but my eyes don’t leave Geneva.
She hasn’t said a word since the broadcast started. Still hasn’t. She’s staring at the screen like it owes her something. Or like she’s not sure if it’s given her what she wanted.
“He doesn’t get to crawl out of this,” I murmur to her.
Benedetto catches it. “He won’t. Not with the next phase.”
Still, Geneva stays quiet. She’s gripping my hand tighter now, nails biting into my skin. Like she’s afraid if she lets go, she’ll fall right back into the past.
“You with me?” I ask her softly.
Her lips part like she might answer. But the words don’t come. She just nods, once, barely.
It’s enough for now.
But I know that look in her eye. This wasn’t closure. Not yet.
An hour later, it’s just me and Geneva. She hasn’t moved from her spot on the couch.
Legs curled up, arms wrapped around herself like she’s trying to hold in everything that’s threatening to spill out.
The glow from the TV bathes her in static light as the headlines continue cycling images of Stanton’s polished life crumbling on repeat.
When Geneva speaks, it’s so low I almost don’t hear her.
“Will he come after us?”
“No,” I say, turning to meet her gaze.
She studies my face like she’s trying to catch me in a lie. “You’re sure?”
“He’s under scrutiny now. Everyone’s watching—his investors, his board, the press, the public. If he even looks in our direction, it’ll trigger alarms. Someone will follow the trail, and it’ll all lead straight back to him, creating more questions he doesn’t want asked.”
She chews on her bottom lip. “So he’ll just lie low? Wait for the heat to die down?”
I shake my head. “He’ll panic. And eventually, he’ll plot. But that’s fine.”
She frowns. “What do you mean?”
“He won’t see it coming. Not this fast. Not with all eyes on him. He’ll assume we’ll wait. Plan. Go legal.”
“We’re not waiting?”
I smile, shaking my head. “No, Doc. We’re not.”
“So we get to kill him soon?”
“Yes, before he has a chance to regain control.”
She nods slowly, her brow furrowing. “Well, it needs to be in the next four days, before I run out of vacation time.”
I huff a laugh and reach for her hand, an edge of violence still curling under my skin. “Don’t worry. I plan on making the most of what’s left.”
She sighs, gesturing to the TV. “Why don’t I feel better?”
I don’t answer right away. She’s asking the question I asked myself the time I avenged Abby and felt nothing but hollow after.
“Because justice doesn’t put things back the way they were,” I murmur. “It just stops them from getting worse.”
She nods slowly, her gaze distant. “And killing him… you think that’ll help?”
I look at her for a long moment. “I think it’ll end it. And sometimes that’s the closest thing we get to peace.”