I was already moving toward the bedroom, phone pressed to my ear. "I'm leaving in five minutes. Does Algerone know?"
"Calling him next."
“Good. Don’t call anyone else.”
I ended the call and stood there for half a second staring at the wine-soaked rug. Dammit all. Then I turned away and tookthe service elevator up to the master suite because the grand staircase was for people who had time to waste on aesthetics.
In the closet, I grabbed the first suit my hand touched. Navy. Fine. A white shirt. A tie I didn't look at while knotting it. My fingers worked on autopilot while my mind raced through scenarios. The most concerning thing was Hardin being missing. If she had been kidnapped, that was one thing, but if she’d gone willingly… Well, that was another problem entirely.
Williams had the Escalade running when I came out the front door. He took one look at my face and didn't say a word, just pulled out of the circular drive fast enough to make the tires squeal on the damp cobblestones.
I took out my tablet and started pulling up security protocols while the city slid past the windows.
I looked at the access logs first, then the building schematics highlighting the breach point, pulling up personnel files for everyone with level five clearance or higher. I opened a dozen windows simultaneously, my fingers moving across the screen while my brain sorted through possibilities.
The financial records blurred together after the first pass. I'd kept Lucky Losers not just afloat but thriving through Algerone's absence. Secured contracts. Deflected board challenges. Maintained the illusion that nothing had changed. And I'd done it all while learning the exact pressure needed to work scar tissue without causing pain.
The exhaustion lived in my bones now. Permanent. The price of devotion that would never be acknowledged or returned.
Hardin had seemed solid. PhD from MIT, fifteen years in acoustic weapons development, impeccable references. But everyone had a pressure point. Money. Ideology. Blackmail. Fear. What were her weaknesses and who knew them?
I pulled up her financial records. Nothing unusual jumped out, but then I remembered she had asked for a raise at herrecent performance review. She didn’t appear to be struggling financially by any means, but bank account numbers rarely told the full truth. For some people, more was never enough.
I’d denied her request for an increase in salary some months back. Standard protocol. Her wages were commensurate with other scientists in her field, her bonuses some of the largest in the company, and she wasn’t due for another salary review for another year according to her contract.
But why ask for more money if she wasn’t struggling? She didn’t strike me as the greedy type. She was a scientist. Had someone else offered her more? Perhaps she’d been fishing for the raise to match a competitor’s offer.
The Escalade pulled into Spade Tower's underground garage. Williams opened my door, and I stepped out, breathing in the scents of concrete and exhaust.
Algerone's sedan was parked three spaces over, driver's door still open. He stood next to it with one hand braced on the roof while his driver hovered nearby looking uncertain. Even from here I could see the tension in his shoulders, the way he was keeping weight off his left leg.
His driver said something. Algerone shook his head and reached into the back seat for his cane. The movement was too fast, and he stumbled slightly, catching himself on the car door.
His free hand moved to his jacket pocket, a brief touch that I recognized immediately. The ace of spades. He'd taken it from the frame again. He only did that when things were bad, when he needed the reminder that he'd survived worse. The first few times I'd noticed the empty frame at the penthouse, I'd panicked, thinking someone had broken in. Now I knew better. Now I understood it meant he was preparing for war.
I was moving before I thought about it.
"Sir," I said as I got close.
He turned, and his expression went cold. "Maxime."
I gestured toward the elevator without saying anything else. What was there to say? We both knew why we were here.
We walked in silence. His cane echoed off the concrete with each step, and I matched my pace to his automatically. Half a step behind, half a step to the right, the position I'd held for thirty-two years.
I hit the call button, and we waited. His breathing was fast and slightly uneven. The hip was bad. Worse than usual at this hour when the meds had worn off.
The elevator arrived. We both moved forward at the same time and nearly collided in the doorway. His shoulder brushed mine, and the contact burned through my suit jacket.
"After you, sir."
He stepped in, and I followed. The doors closed, and suddenly the space was too small. I reached for the button panel at the same time he did, and our fingers touched, just for a second.
I pulled back fast.
He pressed the button without acknowledging it and leaned against the wall. The cane took most of his weight, and his jaw was tight.
The numbers climbed slowly. Too slowly.
