"I don't need you to force him. I need you to recant." I keep my voice perfectly level, channeling the cold, terrifying authority Malcolm uses when he negotiates. "You were in the library. You heard the conversation. You are going to call the chief of police, and you are going to tell him that your father lied. You are going to tell him that Malcolm never threatened the estate, and that Preston orchestrated the arson to cover up corporate fraud."
"If I do that, Father will destroy me," Simon says, his voice cracking. "He’ll cut me off. He’ll ruin my life."
"If you don't do it, I will send the files to the feds, and you will go to prison for fraud," I reply. "Preston is going down, Simon. The only question is whether you are going down with him."
I don't give him time to argue. I don't give him time to negotiate.
"You have until eight o'clock tomorrow morning," I say. "If Malcolm is not walking out of that precinct by 8:01, the emails send automatically."
I hang up the phone.
I set the silver device down on the desk next to the USB drive. My chest is heaving, the sheer force of the bluff leaving me lightheaded.
I look up at Grant.
He is standing in the center of the office. He doesn't smile, but the rigid tension in his shoulders has relaxed slightly.
"Will it work?" I ask, my voice dropping back to its normal register.
"Simon is a survivor of convenience," Grant murmurs. "He will always choose the path that keeps him out of a jail cell. He will betray Preston."
"And when Preston finds out?"
"Preston will attempt to retaliate." Grant walks over to the desk, picking up the silver phone. "Which is why we are not staying in this apartment."
I frown. "Malcolm told me not to leave the penthouse. He said this was the safest place."
"It was the safest place when Preston thought Malcolm was in control," Grant corrects me. "Now, Preston thinks Malcolm is neutralized. Once Simon recants his statement, Preston will realize you are the one holding the leverage. He will send his contractors here. The biometric locks will not stop them if they have authorization from the holding company’s board."
Grant turns toward the door. "Pack a bag, Miss Jennings. We are moving to a secondary location."
I don't argue. I stand up from the desk, leaving the USB drive in my pocket.
I walk down the hallway to the master bedroom. The bed is still unmade from where we slept last night. The faint indentation of Malcolm’s body is still visible on the mattress.
I grab a duffel bag from the closet. I don't pack the silk dresses or the tailored suits. I pack jeans, sweaters, and the heavy winter coat I arrived in. I walk into the bathroom and grab my toothbrush.
As I turn to leave, my eyes catch my reflection in the mirror.
I look exhausted. The oversized t-shirt I borrowed from Malcolm hangs off one shoulder. My hair is a tangled mess.
But the fear is gone.
The woman who walked into the hotel bar two weeks ago, terrified of losing her company, is completely dead. Simon killed her. Preston buried her.
I zip the duffel bag shut and walk back out to the living room.
Grant is waiting by the private elevator. He has a tactical bag slung over his shoulder, and the distinct outline of a weapon is visible under his overcoat.
"Where are we going?" I ask, stepping into the elevator.
"A safe house in the West Loop," Grant replies, pressing the button for the underground garage. "It is off the grid. Preston doesn't know it exists."
The elevator descends rapidly.
I lean back against the metal wall, my hand resting over the pocket holding the USB drive.
Malcolm threw away his empire to protect me. He walked into a cage so I could stay free.
