"The quarterly projections are due Friday. Make sure legal reviews them before submission."
"Of course."
I walked out and closed the door behind me. I made it halfway down the corridor before I had to stop, pressing my palm against the wall and breathing through the tightness in my chest.
My other hand rose to my throat, pressing against the concealed bruises until pain bloomed beneath my fingers. Then I straightened my jacket, composed my expression, and walked to my office with perfect posture.
The Pentagon call ranlong. Kirsch wanted assurances I couldn't give, timelines I couldn't guarantee, and details about Shaw's theft that I wasn't prepared to share with a man whose office leaked like a sieve. By the time I ended the call, my hip was screaming and my patience was gone.
Maxime stood in my doorway, tablet in hand, waiting for instructions. He'd been there for the last forty minutes of the call, silent and attentive, ready to pull up whatever document I needed.
"The tactical briefing for Reid's team," I said. "Have it ready by midnight. We move as soon as we have Shaw's location."
"Of course." He made a note on his tablet. "Anything else?"
I studied him for a long moment. The perfect posture. The neutral expression. The way he held himself like a man expecting nothing.
"Go to the penthouse," I said. "Wait for me in the bedroom. Naked. On your knees."
Something flickered in his eyes. Hope, maybe. Or hunger. He controlled it instantly.
"Yes, sir."
He left without another word. I watched him go, already imagining what I'd do to him when I arrived.
But first, business.
Maxime's footsteps faded down the corridor. I savored a moment of anticipation before turning to Xavier's analysis of the Banshee security architecture. My son's brilliance shone through every line of code. The prototype would remain inert without both my biometric signature and the modified ace of spades from my personal deck.
The symmetry was perfect. The very card that had altered the trajectory of my life now safeguarded my company's most valuable asset.
I approached the window, surveying Cincinnati's skyline. Below, tiny figures scurried through their insignificant lives, blind to the strategic maneuvers unfolding above them. Shaw believed he'd secured a decisive advantage by acquiring the Banshee prototype, not realizing he'd stolen nothing but an exquisitely crafted paperweight.
"Sir, the Pentagon is expressing considerable concern regarding tomorrow's meeting," Reid reported when he called.
"Confirm the appointment. Maxime has prepared our strategic response. Follow his directives precisely."
I ended the call, my mind plotting our next moves. Shaw might eventually reverse-engineer critical components, but Xavier's security system bought us precious time.
My phone vibrated again. Xavier.
"Found something," he reported, voice tight with excitement. "When I built the security protocols, I embedded a tracking algorithm that activates whenever anyone attempts to bypass authentication."
"And?"
"Someone has been attempting to override the system for approximately six hours. Multiple failed attempts originating from Vancouver. I've narrowed the location to the industrial district but need more time to find the precise warehouse."
"You've got six hours," I said. "Call me the second you have something solid."
I ended the call as satisfaction coursed through my veins. Every failed attempt on Shaw's part drew us closer to his location.
I settled into my leather executive chair, the supple material creaking under my weight. My injured leg stretched beneath the polished mahogany, searching for comfort it would never find. The Saudi defense minister's crystal paperweight caught the afternoon light as I rolled it between my fingers and activated the secure line to Shaw.
"GidTech Industries, Mr. Shaw's office." A crisp female voice answered on the second ring.
"Algerone Caisse-Etremont for Gideon Shaw. Tell him it's regarding his recent acquisition from Lucky Losers."
A pause. "Please hold."
