The silence that follows could split bone.
Edgar’s pen trembles in his hand. “Sir, we’re running forensic models now. It’s possible there’s a system breach. Someone cloning approvals, perhaps mirroring authorization codes across departments?—”
“Or someone inside,” I snap. “Someone who knows where the cracks are. Someone I pay to keep them closed.”
I can feel my pulse pounding behind my eyes. The air feels thin, like breathing through glass. My tie feels too tight. My skin too small.
Anita folds her hands neatly on the table, like we’re discussing next quarter’s earnings instead of a goddamn hemorrhage.
“Would you like us to freeze operations in the affected divisions until we identify the breach?”
“No.” My voice is sharp enough to make her flinch. “You’ll freeze nothing. You’ll panic no one. Whoever’s doing this thinks they’re invisible—let them keep thinking that. I want to see the hand before I cut it off.”
Heads nod, shallow, fearful. Edgar’s pen stills.
“Understood.”
“Draft NDAs for every executive with level-three access,” I say, standing. “No devices leave this room. No unsecuredcommunications. Everything is printed. Everything is face-to-face. You lose one document, I’ll know.”
The click of my pen as I cap it sounds like a trigger being pulled.
“And I want names by morning,” I finish, my voice a rugged, a lethal tone I learned from Cast. “I want to know who thought they could steal from me.”
I don’t wait for a response. The chair legs screech against the tile as I stand and leave, the sound like teeth grinding.
The elevator feels too small, too reflective. My face stares back at me in triplicate—pale, drawn, eyes bloodshot from too many nights pretending I could outwork a rot I didn’t see growing underneath me. The lights are too bright. My reflection looks like a stranger wearing my skin.
By the time I reach the lobby, my hands won’t stop shaking. I shove them into my pockets. No one sees the tremor that way.
Outside, the city of Austin sprawls beneath a dark, bruised sky. Frost on the sidewalks, the bitter sting of winter biting through my coat. The city looks alive, pulsing, indifferent. My city. My empire. My problem.
The driver opens the car door. “Airport, sir?”
“Yes,” I mutter. “Straight there.”
The word doesn’t sound right in my mouth.
The car hums to life. I stare out the window as the skyline falls away—glass towers reflected in glass towers, an echo of the same illusion. Somewhere inside one of them, someone is laughing. Counting stolen money.
And I can’t even breathe.
I press my forehead against the cool window. My reflection watches me—same jaw, same tie tightened at the throat, same exhaustion carved into the bones. I’ve built this company since I was twenty-one. I’ve bled for it, given it every piece of myself that wasn’t already promised to my family.
And I’ve failed.
I can feel it in my teeth.
By the time the car rolls up to the private terminal, my vision’s a blur—part exhaustion, part rage. The tarmac glows under the floodlights, silver and gold bleeding into the frost. An attendant greets me the second I step out.
“Good evening, Mr. Beaumont. The jet’s ready for departure?—”
I nod, but I don’t stop. My coat hangs open, the December air biting at my throat as I stride past her and climb the stairs onto the plane. The attendants move aside, murmuring something polite, but I barely hear them. I just need a door that locks.
I walk through the main cabin without really seeing it. Everything gleams—cream leather seats, polished brass, bourbon waiting on the counter. My initials are everywhere, stitched into headrests and napkins, a gift from Cast last Christmas. “For the king of the skies,” he’d said, since I am the main one who travels for work. It feels like mockery now.
The low hum of the engines vibrates beneath my feet, steady and calm where I’m not. I keep moving until I reach the small door at the back. The latch clicks shut behind me.
Inside, the bathroom is bright and sterile, all chrome and white. For a moment, the quiet hits so hard it’s almost merciful, and then the pressure behind my eyes rushes to the forefront, heavy and unrelenting, and I realize there’s nowhere left to run from it.
