I stood up slow. Walked behind her chair. Brought the blade to her throat.
“Choose.”
“Please—”
I pressed. Just a little. Just enough to break the skin. A thin red line bloomed against her neck, and she screamed.
“CHOOSE.”
“Door two! Door two! I’ll leave, I’ll disappear, I’ll do whatever you want, just please don’t?—”
I stepped back. Wiped the blade on my jeans.
“Smart choice.”
Quest tossed her a handkerchief from his pocket. “Clean yourself up. We got work to do.”
She pressed the fabric to her neck with shaking hands, her whole body trembling like a leaf in a hurricane. Mascara running. Nose dripping. All that polished, professional bullshit stripped away to reveal what she really was underneath.
A coward. A follower. A woman who’d thrown someone else under the bus to save her own ass, and was now facing the consequences.
No sympathy. None.
“Here’s how this works,” I said, settling back into my chair. “From this moment forward, you do exactly what we say, when we say it. Any deviation—any attempt to warn Vivica, contact the police, or disappear on your own terms—and door number one becomes your only option. We will find you. And we will finish this. Are we clear?”
She nodded frantically, still crying.
“Use your words, India.”
“Yes! Yes, I understand. I’ll do whatever you say. Please. I’ll cooperate. I promise.”
I looked at Quest. He was smiling—that cold, satisfied smile he got when a plan came together.
“Wonderful.” I matched his smile with one of my own. “Now. Let’s get started.”
28
VIVICA
My office had the best view in the district.
Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the National Mall, the Washington Monument standing tall in the distance like a reminder of the power this city held. I’d worked thirty years to sit in this chair, to have this view, to be the woman who ran the nation’s capital.
Mayor Vivica Banks.
It still gave me chills sometimes, seeing my name on the door. Seeing the way people straightened up when I walked into a room. Seeing the fear and respect in their eyes when they realized who they were dealing with.
I earned this. Every bit of it.
My receptionist’s voice crackled through the intercom. “Mayor Banks? There are some people here to see you.”
I frowned. My calendar was clear for the next hour. “Who is it?”
A pause. Too long of a pause.
“Ma’am… it’s the FBI. And someone from the District Attorney’s office.”
My blood went cold.
