Chapter Fifty
Colton
The server room hummed with quiet menace as I slipped inside, my access card still warm in my hand. The decoy had worked perfectly. Sari had triggered the fire alarm, and the bank began following evacuation procedures with exacting precision. The diversion had created enough chaos for me to slip away while Rodger’s security team rushed to secure the executive floor.
Our operation was in motion, but not according to plan. The careful timeline we’d established over months had been abandoned when Rodger moved his operation forward. Now we were racing against his efforts to destroy evidence before Interpol’s raid in Rotterdam.
I navigated to the secure databases, following the path we’d discovered through Rodger’s supposedly impenetrable systems. Each keystroke brought us closer to what we needed. What we could use to burn it all down.
Then the screen changed.
There they were—offshore accounts, shell companies, a whole network of transactions hidden behind art acquisitions. But it was the shipping records that made my blood run cold.
Names. They’d kept records of the girls. Hundreds of them. All logged like paintings. All processed through legitimate-appearing channels.
I was downloading everything to the secure drive Sari had provided when a warning flashed across the screen. Another terminal was accessing my profile, uploading files to my secure area.
They weren’t just destroying evidence—they were creating it. They were setting me up.
“I’d wondered when you might show your true colors.”
The voice from the doorway made me freeze. Rodger stood there, flanked by two guards whose stance and watchful eyes marked them as adversaries, not the usual corporate security.
“Three days ago,” he continued, stepping into the room, “our monitoring picked up anomalies in your network activity. Small things. Almost undetectable.” His smile was cold. “Almost.”
I kept my hands visible, mind racing through options. The download needed another forty seconds to complete. I needed to keep him talking.
“Your monitoring of my private residence was sloppy,” I said. “Only a matter of time before someone else notices.”
“A minor inconvenience.” He moved deeper into the room, his guards fanning out to flank me. “Even if someone did notice, they’ll understand the necessity when they see what you’ve been planning. Money laundering. Connections to known criminals.” His eyes narrowed. “All very thoroughly documented in your own files.”
They’d been building this frame for weeks, I realized. Each strange network glitch Isabella had detected, each suspicious server log—all part of their plan to make me the fall guy if their operation was ever exposed. Which meant they didn’t know I was already working with Interpol. Didn’t know I was beyond framing.
The guards moved, positioning themselves to cut off any escape. These weren’t rent-a-cops—they moved like special forces.
“No witty response?” Rodger’s eyebrow raised. “I expected more from someone who’s managed to fool the board for so long. Though your brother certainly helped with the deception, didn’t he? Cooper Moreau, supposedly retired in Tuscany. Yet so active in certain circles.”
I kept my expression neutral, but my mind was racing. They knew about Cooper. About his role in our operation. How much else had they discovered?
“And all this time…Miss Delacroix has been by your side,” Rodger continued, checking his phone casually.
My blood went cold. Isabella.
“You can’t touch her,” I said quietly, every word a barely controlled threat.
“We already have.” He checked his phone again. “Teams are moving on your penthouse as we speak. Rather sloppy of you, keeping your command center in your own home. Though I suppose sentiment makes fools of us all.”
The download completed with a soft chime.
Terror and rage collided inside me, creating something cold and vicious. Isabella was in danger because of me—because I hadn’t been careful enough.
The thought of Rodger’s men in our home, threatening her—threatening our unborn children—unleashed something primal in me. I could almost feel Stryker’s voice in my ear: Use the fear. Channel it. Make it work for you.
“You’re right,” I said, my hand slowly moving toward my pocket. “Sentiment is dangerous.”
I studied Rodger’s stance, the position of his guards, the distances between us. I could see five different ways this could play out. I chose the one with the highest probability of getting me back to Isabella quickly.
I moved.
I moved with everything Stryker had taught me.
The fight was brief but brutal. Rodger was good—his military background obvious in every strike. But I was fighting for more than myself now.
My lawyer’s mind analyzed patterns even as my body responded with trained precision. His right cross dropped slightly; I sidestepped and landed a solid blow to his ribs. When he tried to recover with a low kick, I was already countering.
The whole time, all I could think about was Isabella. Was she safe in the panic room? Had she seen Rodger’s men coming? Was Cooper with her?
Rodger landed a blow to my shoulder, but I used the momentum to close the distance, executing the disarming technique Stryker had drilled into me for weeks. The gun clattered to the floor as Rodger staggered back.
“Not just brawn,” I said, advancing methodically. “Strategy.”
His eyes widened slightly—recognition that he had underestimated me. He thought I’d abandoned the strategic mind for physical training. He was wrong.
I moved in for the final combination that would incapacitate him, but Rodger was still dangerous. He feinted towards the door, then unexpectedly dove towards the server rack instead, knocking it across my path.
“Always have contingencies, Moreau,” he growled, using the momentary distraction to scramble toward a hidden panel in the wall, one not shown on any blueprint we’d studied.
I lunged after him, catching his ankle as the panel slid open. We struggled at the threshold of the escape route, his desperation matching my determination. My training gave me the edge; I locked his arm in a hold that had him gasping in pain.
“It’s over, Rodger,” I said, forcing him to his knees.
“Not quite.” Despite his position, his smile was confident. “Check your phone.”
I maintained the hold but glanced at my device. A new message flashed on the screen: security breach at our penthouse .
They were already inside.
Isabella.
The moment of distraction cost me. Rodger twisted suddenly, breaking my hold enough to slam his head back into my face. Pain exploded across my nose, but I barely felt it through the panic rising in my throat.
I reached into my pocket and activated the EMP device Stryker had provided. It was a last resort, one that would temporarily disable electronics in this small area. The lights flickered and died instantly. The server room plunged into darkness as the remaining screens went black.
In the sudden darkness, I could hear Rodger cursing. I moved with the precision Stryker had drilled into me, but Rodger used the momentary chaos to scramble towards the hidden passage. My hand caught his ankle again just as he reached the threshold, but he kicked free with desperate strength. The server rack he’d toppled blocked my path just long enough for him to disappear into the darkness of the escape route.
I could follow him or secure the evidence—not both. The EMP would disrupt surveillance systems and hopefully interfere with whatever communications Rodger was using to coordinate with his team at the penthouse. But it also meant I had limited time before backup systems came online. With Isabella in danger, there was no choice. I had to get home.
“Sari, server room,” I said into my earpiece. “Rodger running. Evidence secured. Send a team.”
I didn’t wait for her response before running toward the exit. As I reached the door, I heard Sari’s voice in my ear.
“We have activity at your penthouse, Colton. Multiple armed individuals. Cooper’s team is engaging but—”
“Isabella,” I interrupted, already moving faster. “Is she—”
“No visual confirmation yet. Cooper says the panic room is secure, but they’re using something to disrupt communications.”
I pushed through the chaos of the fire evacuation, ignoring the shouts from security personnel. Nothing mattered except getting to Isabella. Every second felt like an eternity. Every delay unbearable.
I passed the evidence to Sari’s agent at the rendezvous point with one clear instruction: “Make sure this reaches Interpol.” Then I was moving again, racing to get home. Squealing tires and sharp turns.
It was only when I was halfway to the penthouse that Sari’s panicked voice came through my earpiece.
“Colton—Rodger’s trail has gone cold. There’s a blood trail leading to a maintenance corridor but it disappears.”
My stomach dropped. “How? He was injured—”
“We don’t know. Security footage shows him leaving through a service entrance. He’s injured but mobile.”
Cold dread washed over me. Rodger was moving. And if I knew anything about him, I knew exactly where he’d go.
“He’s going after Isabella,” I said, my voice hollow with certainty.
“We’re dispatching teams—”
“They won’t get there in time,” I cut her off, accelerating through a red light. “I’m two minutes out. Have your team meet me there.”
Isabella was everything. The twins were our future. And right now, they were in danger because of me.
“Come on,” I whispered, pushing the car faster. If anything happened to Isabella—to our children—nothing else would matter. Not the evidence, not the operation, not even justice.
I was going to save them. And god help anyone who stood between me and my family.