CHAPTER 25
AUDREY
The heavy oak door of the office clicks shut.
I stand perfectly still, staring at the brass handle. The sound of the lock sliding into place echoes in the quiet room. A few seconds later, I hear the distinct, metallic chime of the private elevator opening in the foyer, followed by the heavy tread of boots on the hardwood floor.
They took him.
My chest tightens so violently I have to press the heel of my hand against my sternum just to draw a breath.
I am going to let him think he won.
Malcolm’s words ring in my head, cold and absolute. He didn't fight the arrest. He didn't call his lawyers to block the warrant. He walked into that elevator in handcuffs because he needed Preston to believe the threat was neutralized.
I turn around, my eyes scanning the office. The mahogany desk. The leather chair. The massive bookshelf covering the far wall.
I walk over to the shelf, my bare feet silent against the rug. I reach up, my fingers trembling slightly, and pull the thick volume on architectural history from the third row. I open the back cover. The small, black USB drive is sitting exactly where I left it.
I take it out, closing the book and sliding it back onto the shelf.
The drive feels impossibly light in my palm. It is just a piece of plastic and metal, but it holds the entire Vance family empire. It holds the forged transfer documents. It holds the offshore ledgers. It holds the proof that Simon is a thief and Preston is a criminal.
I close my fist around it.
The door to the office opens.
I spin around, my heart hammering a frantic rhythm against my ribs. I expect to see one of the plainclothes detectives standing in the doorway, demanding to know what I’m holding.
It isn't a detective.
Grant is standing in the doorway. He is wearing his usual dark overcoat, but his tie is slightly loosened, and his breathing is heavy, as if he just ran up three flights of stairs. He looks past me, scanning the empty office, before his eyes lock onto my face.
"The police are clear of the building," Grant says, his voice a low, gravelly rumble. "I have a team trailing the squad car to the precinct. The defense attorneys are already waiting for him there."
I let out a shaky breath, the tension in my shoulders releasing just a fraction. "They didn't search the apartment."
"Malcolm wouldn't have allowed it without a warrant. And Preston wouldn't risk a federal judge looking too closely at the probable cause for this arrest." Grant steps fully into the office, closing the door behind him. "Are you injured, Miss Jennings?"
"No." I open my hand, showing him the black USB drive. "He gave me this. He told me to hide it."
Grant looks at the drive. His expression doesn't change, but I see the slight tightening of the muscles in his jaw. He knows exactly what it is.
"He told you to hold it," Grant corrects me quietly. "He didn't tell you to use it."
"He told me it destroys Simon and the holding company." I step toward the desk, my mind racing. "If we take this to the feds right now, we can prove Preston is blackmailing him. We can prove the arson was a setup to ruin his credibility."
"If we take that to the feds right now, Malcolm goes to federal prison," Grant says flatly.
I freeze. "What?"
"The ledgers on that drive implicate the entire Vance holding company.
That includes the security division." Grant walks over to the desk, his massive frame dominating the space.
"Malcolm built the firewalls that hid those transactions.
He facilitated the transfers. He is just as guilty in the eyes of the SEC as Preston is. "
The air leaves my lungs.
I have immunity. I negotiated it yesterday.
He lied. He lied to Preston in the library to force his hand, and he lied to me to keep me from panicking. He didn't secure immunity. He just handed me the weapon and told me to pull the trigger, fully knowing the blast radius would take him out too.
"He knew," I whisper, staring at the plastic drive in my hand. "He knew it would destroy him, and he still told me to keep it."
"Malcolm operates on a very specific set of priorities," Grant says. He doesn't sound angry. He sounds resigned. "Protecting the company used to be at the top of that list. It isn't anymore."
I close my eyes, a wave of absolute, crushing guilt washing over me.
This is my fault. If I hadn't walked into that bar, if I hadn't pitched a stupid revenge plot over a martini, Malcolm would still be sitting in this office.
He would still be the untouchable CEO. He wouldn't be sitting in the back of a police cruiser, facing arson charges orchestrated by his own father.
"We have to get him out," I say, opening my eyes. I look at Grant, the guilt hardening into a sharp, desperate focus. "If we can't use the drive, how do we get him out?"
"The defense team will attempt to secure bail at the arraignment hearing tomorrow morning. But Preston controls the judge. It is highly likely bail will be denied, citing Malcolm as a flight risk."
"So he just sits in a cell while Preston takes apart the security division?"
"Yes." Grant crosses his arms. "Unless Preston drops the charges."
I stare at him. "Preston set his own house on fire to frame Malcolm. He isn't going to drop the charges."
"He will if he realizes the alternative is worse.
" Grant looks pointedly at the USB drive in my hand.
"Preston believes he neutralized the threat because he believes Malcolm’s credibility is ruined.
He doesn't know you have the original files.
He assumes Malcolm destroyed them, or that they are locked in a server he can't access. "
My brain stalls for a second, processing the logistics.
"If Preston knows I have the drive," I say slowly, "he won't drop the charges. He’ll just send someone to take it from me."
"He will try," Grant agrees. "Which is why you are not going to tell him you have it."
"Then what am I supposed to do with it?"
Grant reaches into his coat pocket. He pulls out a sleek, silver smartphone and sets it on the mahogany desk.
"You are going to call Simon," Grant says.
I look at the phone, then back at Grant. "Simon? Simon is terrified of Preston. He won't do anything to help Malcolm."
"Simon is terrified of Preston," Grant acknowledges.
"But Simon is also a coward who just realized his older brother is willing to burn the entire family to the ground.
Simon doesn't want to go to federal prison.
If he believes you are going to hand those files to the SEC tomorrow morning, he will panic.
And when Simon panics, he makes mistakes. "
I look down at the silver phone.
It is a massive risk. If Simon calls my bluff, if he goes straight to Preston instead of panicking, I lose the only leverage I have. Malcolm stays in jail, and Preston sends his contractors to tear this penthouse apart looking for the drive.
I am not going to let anyone look at you and see a liability.
I pick up the phone.
"What's the number?" I ask.
Grant recites a ten-digit number. "It is his direct line. It bypasses the holding company’s switchboard."
I dial the number. My hands are completely steady. The adrenaline has burned away the panic, leaving behind a cold, absolute clarity.
The phone rings twice.
"Simon Vance," a voice answers. He sounds exhausted, the arrogant edge completely missing from his tone.
"Simon," I say.
There is a sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line. "Audrey. How did you get this number?"
"It doesn't matter." I walk around the desk, sitting down in Malcolm’s leather chair. The chair is too big for me, but the smell of his cedar cologne lingers in the leather, anchoring me to the room. "I need to talk to you."
"I can't talk to you." Simon’s voice drops to a frantic whisper. "The police are still at the estate. Father is with the fire investigators. If he finds out I’m on the phone with you—"
"If you hang up this phone, Simon, I am going to email the forged transfer documents for my company to the Chicago Tribune," I interrupt smoothly. "And then I am going to email the offshore ledgers for the Cayman accounts to the SEC."
The silence on the line is absolute.
I can hear the faint sound of sirens in the background of his call. He is standing outside the burning mansion.
"Malcolm destroyed those files," Simon finally whispers, his voice shaking. "Father said he destroyed them in the library."
"Malcolm lied." I pick up the black USB drive, rolling it between my fingers. "He gave me the original drive before the police arrested him. I am holding it right now."
"You're bluffing."
"Am I?" I lean back in the chair. "Do you really want to bet your trust fund on it, Simon? You saw him at the gala. You saw what he was willing to do. He doesn't care about the company anymore. And neither do I."
Simon lets out a ragged, panicked breath. "What do you want?"
"I want Malcolm out of custody."
"I can't do that! Father filed the complaint. He told the police Malcolm threatened to burn the house down. I can't force him to drop the charges."
"I don't need you to force him. I need you to recant.
" I keep my voice perfectly level, channeling the cold, terrifying authority Malcolm uses when he negotiates.
"You were in the library. You heard the conversation.
You are going to call the chief of police, and you are going to tell him that your father lied.
You are going to tell him that Malcolm never threatened the estate, and that Preston orchestrated the arson to cover up corporate fraud. "
"If I do that, Father will destroy me," Simon says, his voice cracking. "He’ll cut me off. He’ll ruin my life."
"If you don't do it, I will send the files to the feds, and you will go to prison for fraud," I reply. "Preston is going down, Simon. The only question is whether you are going down with him."
I don't give him time to argue. I don't give him time to negotiate.
"You have until eight o'clock tomorrow morning," I say. "If Malcolm is not walking out of that precinct by 8:01, the emails send automatically."
I hang up the phone.
I set the silver device down on the desk next to the USB drive. My chest is heaving, the sheer force of the bluff leaving me lightheaded.
I look up at Grant.
He is standing in the center of the office. He doesn't smile, but the rigid tension in his shoulders has relaxed slightly.
"Will it work?" I ask, my voice dropping back to its normal register.
"Simon is a survivor of convenience," Grant murmurs. "He will always choose the path that keeps him out of a jail cell. He will betray Preston."
"And when Preston finds out?"
"Preston will attempt to retaliate." Grant walks over to the desk, picking up the silver phone. "Which is why we are not staying in this apartment."
I frown. "Malcolm told me not to leave the penthouse. He said this was the safest place."
"It was the safest place when Preston thought Malcolm was in control," Grant corrects me.
"Now, Preston thinks Malcolm is neutralized. Once Simon recants his statement, Preston will realize you are the one holding the leverage. He will send his contractors here. The biometric locks will not stop them if they have authorization from the holding company’s board. "
Grant turns toward the door. "Pack a bag, Miss Jennings. We are moving to a secondary location."
I don't argue. I stand up from the desk, leaving the USB drive in my pocket.
I walk down the hallway to the master bedroom. The bed is still unmade from where we slept last night. The faint indentation of Malcolm’s body is still visible on the mattress.
I grab a duffel bag from the closet. I don't pack the silk dresses or the tailored suits. I pack jeans, sweaters, and the heavy winter coat I arrived in. I walk into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush.
As I turn to leave, my eyes catch my reflection in the mirror.
I look exhausted. The oversized t-shirt I borrowed from Malcolm hangs off one shoulder. My hair is a tangled mess.
But the fear is gone.
The woman who walked into the hotel bar two weeks ago, terrified of losing her company, is completely dead. Simon killed her. Preston buried her.
I zip the duffel bag shut and walk back out to the living room.
Grant is waiting by the private elevator. He has a tactical bag slung over his shoulder, and the distinct outline of a weapon is visible under his overcoat.
"Where are we going?" I ask, stepping into the elevator.
"A safe house in the West Loop," Grant replies, pressing the button for the underground garage. "It is off the grid. Preston doesn't know it exists."
The elevator descends rapidly.
I lean back against the metal wall, my hand resting over the pocket holding the USB drive.
Malcolm threw away his empire to protect me. He walked into a cage so I could stay free.
He thinks he is the only one in this relationship capable of burning the world down to save the other.
He is about to find out how wrong he is.