They need a clean transfer. They need my cooperation.
“You bring him,” I say, my voice steady. “Or I leave.”
“You will not leave the building,” he replies.
I let a fraction of steel enter my tone.
“Try me.”
The man on the other end exhales. It’s a small sound of annoyance, not panic.
“Very well,” he says at last. “But understand, this does not alter the outcome. Both of you will be escorted to the suite.”
Hawk’s fingers brush lightly against the small of my back. He’s giving me reassurance … and warning.
“Understood,” I reply.
The line goes dead. The escorts do not attempt retaliation. They stand slowly, adjusting jackets, resetting posture as if this is merely a scheduling inconvenience. One of them gestures toward the private elevator at the end of the mezzanine.
“This way.”
Hawk does not lower his guard. He stays close … too close. And I realize something I was not prepared for. I want him here. Not because he is useful. Because when he stood between me and their pressure, he chose to risk himself for me. And that changes everything.
As we walk toward the elevator, I feel compelled to tell him everything, but I can’t.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I murmur under my breath.
“Yes,” Hawk replies quietly. “I did.”
“They may kill me once they use me for what they want. Once I clear it, I become a liability.”
“I know.”
The simplicity of it makes my throat tighten.
“And you?” I ask.
“I adjust.”
The elevator doors slide open with their polished interior and mirrored walls. No cameras visible. Which means there are many.
We step inside. The escorts do not enter. That tells me everything. The doors close with a muted seal.
As the elevator begins to rise, I feel the weight of what waits above us. The diamonds. The scanners. The processors hidden beneath compliance hardware. And soon, the man who believes he controls all of it.
I have stalled long enough. Now I must decide how far I am willing to go to stop it. And whether I am willing to risk the one variable I never planned for … Hawk.
The elevator doors open onto a silence that’s uncomfortable. Despite my best effort, my heart is racing. This is a place that holds a potential for disaster.
The suite stretches wide and immaculate with floor-to-ceiling glass, muted lighting, and polished marble beneath our feet. At the center of the room, a long glass table holds three open cases of diamonds. They are real and probably the best grade. But they’re cold … as chilling as the air feels right now in this expansive room.
At the far end of the table sits a man who looks like he’s in charge — most likely the one from the phone. He’s wearing an expensive designer gray suit with a purple shirt and silver tie that matches his hair color. His posture is relaxed, but measured. He does not stand.
“Thank you for joining us,” he says calmly.
There are five others in the room. Two seated. Two positioned along the walls. One standing near the main man. No one reaches for a weapon. They don’t need to. Not yet.
“You’re late,” he continues.
