26 Target Three
Caius Valmont sat at his desk, motionless, as the lead investigator fanned the contents of the yellow envelope across the polished wood.
The office was a glass box thirty stories above the city, engineered for intimidation—black ceiling, flood of bright light, everything expensive and geometric.
Even the air had been stripped of impurities by the intricate ventilation system, so the only thing you could smell was the faint solvent from the carpet and, right now, a thread of bad cologne trailing off the investigator's lapel.
Typically, the blinds on the walls facing the reception were left open, but today they were shut. Caius had also demanded not to bother him while he was in the meeting.
He didn't need for anyone in the firm to see or question the nature of his discussion with the man from Bale Security.
He didn't offer a seat to the investigator. He simply allowed the man to spread the photos across the surface of the desk, then waited for the first words.
"Security pulls from both incidents," said the investigator, Ben Talbot. He wasn't a subtle man—meaty hands, neck built for holding weights, salt-and-pepper hair buzzed. But his body language was different, subservient.
Aaron Bale had assigned the man tasks from Caius in the past and Caius was happy with the results.
Caius studied the first photo. A dim corridor, walls with questionable paint color.
In the left third was a man. Height was hard to determine, wide in the shoulders, wearing a dark coverall.
The face was a void—angle and shadows all combining to black it out.
In the next photo, the same man was in a different hallway and on a different day.
Caius recognized the interior of the Mid-Wilshire venue where Thorne's downfall had begun.
He'd been to that venue himself a few times. On different occasions.
"The timeline fits," Talbot said. "Based on the preliminary analysis of his body build and movements, it's safe to say it's the same person.
He was present at both events and disappeared after.
Credentials captured on camera during first even didn't clear out.
In second instance, they belonged to someone else.
" He tapped a finger to the sequence. "Always alone.
Never uses a main exit. Knows how to avoid cameras. Proficient in camouflage. He's a pro."
Caius flipped through the photos in silence. The man's face was never visible, but the body was the same—athletic, disciplined, probably ex-military.
"Could it be private sector?" Caius asked. His voice was clipped, no wasted syllable. "Mercenary. Freelancer."
Talbot gave a noncommittal shrug. "We tried cross-referencing builds with known contractors in the area. Nothing matches. He was careful to stay out of line-of-sight for all the biometric cameras."
"Not an amateur hour."
"Not at all," Talbot replied, unfazed. "This is a top-tier professional, Mr. Valmont." He considered Caius for a moment, then added, "Maybe the best I've seen."
Caius didn't look up from the photos. "Are you sure he worked alone?"
"Yes. If he wasn't, I would've found the connection."
Caius retrieved the photo hiding on the bottom of the spread.
The man was captured on camera rolling a utility cart through the corridor.
To his right the blonde woman, whose name he wished to erase from his mind, had been pressed to the wall by Ronan Wick.
"What about her?" He shoved his finger at the woman in the photo.
"Any chance she and our mystery man know each other beyond this interaction? "
"I doubt it. This was the only occurrence of them appearing on the footage together. He's bound to bump into people at such crowded events."
Caius thought about Jerico's words again. To shut Kimberly Holt up had cost him a lot of money. She'd almost fucked his career, but he'd managed to cover it up just in time.
But from what he'd remembered about the bitch, she was incapable of making any sound decisions.
She wasn't any different from all those young gold-diggers with fresh tits and ass.
Even stuffing all her holes was boring. They had to spike her drink to get her to give it up.
And he didn't like when he had to put in all the work.
Watching them squirm while trying to get him interested was far more exciting.
"Keep an eye on her," Caius told Talbot.
"No problem."
"Were you able to find out more about the man? His hiding place. What kind of car he drives."
"Not yet. We have nothing to go on so far except for the footage from both events. Once, he's out of the building, he's a ghost. We're still looking through surveillance from the neighboring business."
That stung. Caius didn't react, but he felt the deep, cellular irritation of being in the dark.
He hated being anyone's target. At first, he hoped that his former buddies' failures were due to their own misjudgments, but now that he'd started to look into the situation himself and had confirmed Jerico's theory wasn't just a theory, he was almost certain that he could be next.
Caius swept the next photo into view, analyzed the stance, the angle, the readiness of the mystery man. "Did he come armed?"
"Not obviously. He could be carrying, but my men think he's more hands-on.
The only evidence he left was in the Mid-Wilshire building—looped feeds and disabled motion sensors near the vault, but not in a way that would tip off anyone with experience.
My guy had to scrap the system to figure it out with the tech we obtained on the black market.
Regular government-issued software won't cut it. "
A hint of admiration in the investigator's voice made Caius want to rip his tongue out. But he kept it together. "Any theories?" he asked instead.
Talbot hesitated, which irritated Caius further. "Well, whoever this is, he knows what he's doing. Too low-key, no loose ends. I'd say definitely private. But we haven't figured out yet what organization he belongs to or why he's doing this."
"And you're telling me after all this time, you still can't figure out who he is?"
The investigator kept his gaze on the desk.
"It's going to take time, Mr. Valmont. If you believe he's targeting you next, I'll need unrestricted access to all your feeds.
Your office, your property you share with your wife, your penthouse in the city.
This guy won't be easy. He moves like he's used to blending in and vanishing.
For all we know he could already be tracking your movements. "
Caius's hands flattened against the wood, spreading just a little. "Find him. I don't care how much it costs. He took out two of my former associates and walked away."
Talbot nodded, gathering the photos back into the envelope. He was gone then, leaving the envelope at the corner of the desk.
Caius stared at it for a while, feeling angry and frustrated at the same time. He wanted to punish someone for these feelings.
He would find the mystery man.
And when he did, he would make sure there would be no more photos, no more questions—just a clean, permanent end.
Caius Valmont would not be made a victim.
Not in his own playground.
The private club was soundproofed and padded for the city's most toxic conversations.
Caius took the rear entrance—always did—and skirted the valets and the smoking hedge funders. Inside, the host recognized him instantly. No name, no nod, just a quick pulse of the eyes and the ushering toward the elevator.
The back room on the top floor was already staged—blackout curtains, half-moon banquette in oxblood leather, table set with a decanter and two tumblers, both untouched. The light came from a copper sconce on the wall that rendered every surface as grainy, half-human.
Caius could see the veins in his wrist, and when Wick entered five minutes later, the first thing he noticed was that Ronan's hands were shaking.
"Didn't think you'd ever call," Wick said. He sat, then immediately reached for the decanter and poured two fingers of whiskey, hand braced so the glass didn't rattle. "Why are we meeting here?"
"You know why. I can't be seen with you in public right now. You're out on bail."
Wick took a sip and nodded, then glanced around the room. Bro code was still a bro code. They weren't supposed to mess with each other's careers.
Caius silently slid the envelope of photos across the table.
Wick didn't touch it right away. He stared at the envelope for a beat, then at Caius, as if weighing the risk of what was inside. Eventually, he pulled the pictures into the light and spread them with the flat of his palm.
Caius grabbed the photo of the unidentified mystery man from the bottom of the pile and placed it in front of Wick, then tapped at the image with a finger.
"So, you talked to Jerico?" Wick guessed.
"I did."
"I remember this guy," Wick said, returning his attention to the photo. "He was at the mixer. Bumped into me in the back. Dressed like a waiter. Had a beard."
"But he wasn't one," Caius concluded.
"Definitely not. He knew exactly what he was doing." Wick was quiet for a while. "That dumb bitch… You saw the footage, right. I bet she's involved."
"Kimberly Holt?" Caius prompted.
Wick's nostrils flared. "Just so you know, I didn't talk to the cops about her. And Thorne—he might be a cockroach, but he's no snitch either."
"I didn't say you did."
"She made a lot of noise after," Wick supplied.
"I made it go away, didn't I?"
"Why you think she suddenly showed up? She's been quiet for three years."
"You're serious?" Caius asked, almost laughing, but it was all for show.
On the inside he wasn't laughing at all.
"You think that's her? You think she has something to do with your arrest and Jerico's forgery scandal.
I mean we both know she's dumb. But she's not dumb enough to try and go against us. Not smart enough either."
"Any leads?"
"My investigators are watching her now."
"She figured out someone was following her and managed to lose the tail when I had my guy on her."
Caius was quiet again. His mind drifted back to the party three years ago.
Frankly speaking, it wasn't that memorable.
Women subdued by pharmaceuticals weren't his cup of tea.
He liked when they felt the pain, when they felt his dick in their holes and begged him to stop.
He liked when they fought him off. Kimberly Holt was a dead fish, knocked out by a minimal amount of Rohypnol.
She was just another useless bitch, who cost him a pretty penny.
But the fact that both Ronan and Jerico were convinced she somehow was involved set off his danger detectors.
"Did Jerico's contact find anything on her. You mentioned he was poking around the dark web?"
Ronan shook his head. "No. Nothing you can't track through a regular background check."
Caius pondered. If this woman was in fact involved in Jerico and Ronan's recent scandals and no chatter on the dark web occurred, she was either truly not connected to any of this or somehow cleaned up or had someone with serious tech and resources clean up after her.
The last notion made Caius squirm internally.
"My suggestion is to be careful, Caius," Ronan supplied. "You have a lot to lose."
"I appreciate it," Caius said, not meaning it.
The meeting came to its logical end since he got all the info he needed from Wick. He got up, warned Ronan not to call him directly and not to get involved into the investigation further and left.
In the elevator, he took a moment to adjust his tie and smooth his hair. He checked his phone, then looked at his reflection in the glass wall of the moving cabin, calibrating his expression to perfect neutrality.
He thought about the woman. About all the women like her, crawling to him, begging for attention and relevance.
They were insects.
He felt nothing for them.
Not even disgust.
They deserved to be fucked and discarded.
The investigator was already waiting when Caius walked into his office two days later.
"I want you to look into Kimberly Holt deeper," Caius ordered coldly.
"Want me to keep following her?" Talbot asked.
"More than that. I need you to find the connection between her and our mystery man.
" Caius's voice was all clean precision—no rage now, only the sterile charge of a surgeon's gloves snapping tight.
"Start with the usual—background, phone, finances.
Look for any hint of relationship, contact, or mutual employer.
I don't want conjecture. I want hard, undeniable facts. "
"Of course."
"If she's working with that man, she's not as harmless as she looks."
Two minutes later, Talbot was gone.
Caius smiled. He relished when the game became intriguing. If that was the case now, he intended to savor every moment of it.