Chapter 53 Geneva
GENEVA
GHOST SPREADS OUT THE BLUEPRINT ACROSS THE TABLE LIKE IT’S A ritual. A silent declaration of war. The paper’s worn at the edges, but the lines are crisp. Precise. Just like him.
“This is the private residence,” he says, tapping the corner of the layout with the end of a black pen. “On the coast. Backed up against the cliffside. Cameras here, here, and here.” He circles each point. “Motion sensors run the length of the lower path. The beach side is the weakest.”
I lean in, scanning the Atlantic outlined in ink. “You’ve already done recon?”
He gives a curt nod. “Three nights. Two dry runs. He’s got at least eight on-site,” Ghost says, tapping the perimeter with the tip of a pen. “Four rotating at the fence line. Two at the gate. Two more closer to the house itself. Plus however many inside. Private security, not government.”
Benedetto leans forward. “How armed?”
“The usual with Tasers and sidearms,” Ghost says. “But also, thermal scopes, high-range gear, the works. He’s scared. All three points of entry are monitored now.”
“Since when?”
“Since I left him a gift in the vault and the one in the Bentley.” Ghost crosses his arms. “He’s paranoid now.
Patrol shifts every thirty minutes. Window of four minutes between rounds.
South approach is still the softest—beach access.
But we’ll need to crawl below the sensor sweep line and time it perfectly with the tide. ”
I lean in. “We’re coming in from the ocean?”
He nods. “Wetsuits. Low tide hits at two thirteen a.m. That gives us an hour before the surge starts back up. We make landfall, bypass the motion sensors, and breach through the wine cellar. There’s a reinforced door now, thanks to his new habits, but Benedetto can handle it.”
Benedetto exhales slowly, studying the map. “And if the guards spot us?”
“They won’t,” Ghost answers. “I’ve studied their routes. The beach pair walks blind for ten-second intervals at three locations. We’ll move in those gaps.” He looks at me next. Like the rest of the room disappeared. “You’ll be with me.”
I dip my head in acknowledgment.
Ghost pulls a second sheet from the stack and spreads it out to reveal blueprints. “We go up through the wine cellar. Crawl space leads to a dumbwaiter shaft. From there, we get to the third-floor hallway, bypassing both the stairs and cameras.”
“And once we’re in?” I ask.
His expression darkens, voice lowering. “You and I question him.” He glances at Benedetto. “You’ll keep watch. If anyone comes, you make sure they don’t get inside the room.”
Benedetto tilts his head. “Are you expecting trouble?”
“I’m expecting paranoia. Stanton has seen the diamonds. He knows we’re coming. He just doesn’t know when.”
There’s a weight to what we’re about to do, and not just because it’s dangerous. It’s final. We aren’t just confronting a man. We’re confronting every lie and every life he ruined. Mine included.
“What if the guards are more alert than you think?” I ask.
“I expect they are,” Ghost replies. “That’s why we go silent. No guns unless absolutely necessary.”
Benedetto grins. “I’ve always loved a little bit of knife play.”
“Jesus.” Ghost rolls his eyes. “Remind me why I keep inviting you to these things?”
“Because I bring knives, charm, and a flexible moral code.”
“Should’ve brought duct tape instead,” Ghost mutters. “I want to give the doc as much time as possible with Stanton.”
Benedetto raises an eyebrow. “Fair enough.”
“I want an apology before I gut him,” I say.
A slow, crooked smile tugs at Ghost’s mouth. “You’ll get more than an apology, Doc.”
I don’t want a trophy. I want Stanton’s blood on the floor and his lies ripped from his mouth. And I want to be the one who takes them.
Ghost taps the blueprint again, his finger landing on a marked room as the private study. “That’s where we bring him. Soundproof. Reinforced walls. No windows. It’s where he holds private briefings with his top donors.”
I blink. “You’re saying we interrogate him in his own war room?”
Ghost shrugs. “Poetic, isn’t it?”
Benedetto huffs. “And you say I’m the sentimental one.”
“You’ve got nothing to be nervous about,” he says to me. But I can see it in his eyes: the tight coil of protectiveness, the unspoken promise that if anything goes wrong tonight, he’s burning the whole estate down and dragging me out of there.
“I’m about to interrogate the man who organized my parents’ murder,” I say dryly. “Pretty sure nerves are allowed.”
He nods, his expression stern. “True, but remember rule number five, Doc.”
“Don’t hesitate.”