I’m dressing for war.
When I turn around, Cassian is up. He pulls on his dark cargo pants and a fresh T-shirt, moving his left arm strictly from the elbow down, keeping the shoulder rigid. He grabs his leather shoulder holster from the dresser, sliding it over his good arm, and racks the slide of his gun one-handed against the edge ofthe dresser with a sharp, metallic clack before holstering the weapon.
He looks at me, taking in the scraped-back hair and the dead-eyed focus in my posture.
“Varro is waiting in the basement,” he says.
“Let’s go.”
We take the private elevator down in total silence.
The command center is freezing, illuminated by the harsh blue glare of the server racks. Varro stands by the glowing topographic map table, a suppressed assault rifle slung tightly across his ceramic plate carrier.
His eyes flick to Cassian, then to me. A flicker of surprise crosses his face before his expression flattens back out.
I hold his gaze. He gives a single, slow nod.
“Status,” Cassian demands, walking to the map table.
“Still pinned,” Varro says, tapping a key to pull up a tactical overlay. “Drones have three spotters in the tree line. If Hale wired them the rest of the money, they aren’t leaving. They’re waiting for ordnance to breach the walls. We can hold them, but it’s a siege against a guy with endless cash.”
“He can buy a private army,” I say, stepping up to the table.
“We can’t hide,” I state, leaning my hands flat on the cold glass of the map table. “If we stay here, we’re waiting to be slaughtered. We have the Black Ledger, but if we anonymously leak it to the press, my father will spin it. He’ll say it’s a deepfake. He’ll say Elias was a Russian asset trying to frame a Federal Judge. He has the entire media in his pocket. He has the FBI director on speed dial.”
Cassian watches me. “She’s right. You don’t kill a snake with a spreadsheet. I’ll mobilize Team 6. We load up the SUVs, drive into the city, and hit his penthouse tonight. We blow the doors off the hinges, execute his security detail, and I put a hollow-point bullet right between his eyes.”
“No,” I say sharply.
Cassian’s head snaps toward me. “Iris. I’m not letting him live.”
“I’m not saying let him live,” I say, my voice deadpan. “I’m saying a bullet to the head in his sleep is too clean. If he dies a mysterious, violent death, he dies a martyr. They’ll name federal courthouses after him. They’ll fast-track his legacy. I want his reputation burned to the ground. I want him caught in the act. I want to look him directly in the eye when he loses everything.”
Varro lets out a low, impressed whistle.
“How?” Cassian asks, stepping around the table, crowding into my space. “He’s sitting in a fortified high-rise surrounded by private security and federal agents who think he’s America’s grandfather. We can’t get to him without starting a bloodbath in the middle of downtown.”
“We don’t go to him,” I say, tilting my head up to meet his dark stare. “We make him come to us.”
“He isn’t going to walk into a trap, Iris.”
“He will if the bait is right.” I point to the dark screen of the encrypted tablet sitting on the console. “He thinks I’m dead. Or he thinks the Syndicate failed and you’re holding me hostage for leverage. We need to give him a third option. A miracle.”
Cassian’s posture instantly stiffens. He sees where my logic is going before I even finish the sentence, and his immediate reaction is absolute rejection.
“No,” he growls, shaking his head.
“Listen to me?—”
“No,” he repeats, his voice echoing loudly off the concrete walls. He reaches out, his right hand gripping my upper arm. “I’m not using you as bait. Do you understand me? I didn’t pull you out of a burning car to dangle you in front of a psychopath.”
“You aren’t using me,” I snap, stepping into his space until our chests almost touch. “I’m offering. I’m the only bait he’llactually take. Not because he cares about me, but because I’m a loose end.”
“It’s a suicide mission,” he snarls, his grip tightening on my arm. “He already proved you’re expendable. Once he gets that drive back, the fact that you’re his daughter won’t save you. He won’t care what happens to you.”
“He will come alone,” I argue, my mind moving fast. “If I tell him I have the Ledger, he can’t risk anyone else seeing the files. It’s the only way to draw him out of his fortress.”
“If he pulls a weapon on you before?—”
