Chapter 35
JADE
Hot water drums against our bodies as we stand huddled together in the glass shower stall of the spa. We share this intimate moment in silence before reality catches up and the physical heat gives way to an undeniable tension.
We dry off, dress, and climb the stairs to the ground floor, entering the library. Cayden drops onto the leather sofa, elbows on his knees, rubbing his face with both hands.
I sit beside him and pick up my notebook.
“Hayes doesn't want a hockey stadium,” I begin without warning. I flip to the page with my hasty sketches. “He’s using you as a Trojan horse, Cayden.”
He raises an eyebrow, then grins. “Hayes is pouring hundreds of millions into the project, Jade. As soon as he gives his final nod, the excavators start rolling. And—not to brag—you’re hardly going to write anything bad about me now, are you?”
“The excavators are rolling for Icarus Holdings,” I correct him.
I tap my notes with my index finger. “I hacked into the land registry archives. The entire port district is under the strictest environmental regulations. You only got that permit because you’re using your own money to finance the ecological compensation areas.
The city celebrates you as a benefactor.
But who is currently buying up the worthless industrial land directly around your stadium? ”
“I don't know. You tell me.”
“Icarus Holdings. A shell company.”
“And?”
“The parent company of Icarus is in Nevada,” I toss the next piece onto the table.
“Silver Star Entertainment. They’re a casino operator.
Hayes wants to turn this land into a gambling metropolis.
And he’s using your flawless deal to make the plots buildable.
Without your name, the city council would never have granted a building permit to a guy like that in this district. ”
Cayden shakes his head, crossing his arms. His mind fights the logic. “That makes no sense. What does that have to do with the stadium?”
“He never wanted to build a stadium,” I whisper.
My pulse thumps against my jugular. “He’s letting you sign these preliminary contracts.
You’re going into full liability with your entire private fortune for the construction firms. And at exactly that moment, he pulls the plug.
He provokes a scandal that ruins you completely.
The city council will stop the project due to public outrage.
You go bankrupt. Hayes withdraws as the ‘betrayed investor,’ buys the developed land for pennies from your bankruptcy estate, and builds his casinos on your ruins. ”
“He has nothing on me,” Cayden retorts.
“Eric Davis,” I say the name.
Cayden freezes.
“I checked the books of Davis's consulting firm,” I explain hastily, moving closer. “Hayes transferred a massive sum to him two weeks ago. Disguised as a ‘risk analysis.’ A hockey coach doesn't analyze building plots. That’s a down payment. Davis is just waiting for the signal. As soon as you sign this deal with Hayes, he goes to the press. He’ll dig up the Banff thing, twist the lies from back then, and finish you off. That’s Hayes’s plan.
He ruins you financially to get the land, and Davis gets his long-awaited revenge. ”
Cayden stares at the blue letters in my notebook. I can practically see the gears turning. The initial disbelief gives way to bitter realization. The years of negotiations. The sudden delays. Hayes’s demand for a portrait that would bring old wounds back into the public eye anyway. It all fits.
“That bastard,” he grinds out. His voice vibrates with suppressed rage. “He’s been manipulating me for months. He stood on that construction site, shook my hand, and smiled to my face while lying. And this farce with the portrait was just meant to distract and rattle me so I’d definitely sign.”
I lay my hand on his forearm. “You can't sign those contracts.”
He shakes his head. He pulls away from my touch, stands up abruptly, and paces to the fireplace. He braces one hand on the mantel and stares into the empty ash.
“If I refuse to sign, he sues me for breach of contract on the preliminary agreements,” he calculates aloud.
His business instinct takes over. “He has armies of lawyers. He’ll bleed me dry financially before we even see the inside of a courtroom.
A mere suspicion or a digital bank statement isn't enough to convict him. I’m in a vice.
If I sign, I’m done. If I don't, he drags me to court.”
He reaches for his phone on the small glass table. The display lights up, casting a pale glow on his face.
“What are you going to do?” I ask. The dynamics in the room shift. He’s not backing down anymore. He’s going on the attack.
“We only have one option,” he says. His thumb swipes across the screen. He dials a number. “I’m calling in the Chester Street Society.”