"The federal prosecutor’s office." Malcolm takes his phone out of his pocket. "And David at the Tribune."
I drop my coat onto the worn leather sofa. "You’re going to give the files to the press before the SEC has a chance to process them?"
"If I only give them to the SEC, Preston will use his political connections to stall the investigation. He will bury the evidence in procedural red tape for years." Malcolm walks toward a heavy metal desk sitting in the corner of the loft. "If I give them to David, the story breaks by noon. The board will panic. The shareholders will demand Preston’s immediate resignation. The SEC will be forced to act publicly."
It is a flawless, brutal strategy. He isn't just going to arrest his father; he is going to publicly execute his reputation.
"Do you need the drive?" I reach into the front pocket of my jeans, my fingers brushing against the small piece of black plastic.
"Keep it," Malcolm says, not looking up from his phone. "I have a secure server set up in this loft. I can transfer the data directly from the drive, but I want you to be the one who hands it to me when the time comes."
I frown, walking over to the desk. "Why?"
He finishes typing a message and sets the phone down on the metal surface. He looks up at me.
"Because you earned it," he says quietly. "Simon stole your company. Preston tried to erase your family. You are the one who broke Simon this morning. You hold the execution order, Audrey. You get to decide when we pull the lever."
A heavy, complicated knot forms in my throat.
He is giving me the agency. He could easily take the drive, plug it in, and handle the entire operation himself. He is the CEO. He isthe tactician. But he is deliberately stepping back, ensuring that I am not just a passenger in this revenge plot.
I pull the drive out of my pocket and set it on the desk between us.
"We pull it now," I say.
Malcolm looks at the drive. He doesn't smile, but the dark, absolute pride in his eyes is unmistakable.
"Agreed," he murmurs.
He reaches under the desk, pulling out a sleek, heavy laptop. It doesn't look like a standard commercial model. It looks military-grade, encased in matte black metal. He opens it, his fingers flying across the keyboard to bypass a series of encrypted login screens.
"Vivian called me while you were in custody," I say, leaning my hip against the edge of the desk. "She said the media is camped outside the police precinct. They saw you leave. They know the charges were dropped."
"Preston will have seen the news by now." Malcolm plugs the USB drive into the side of the laptop. "He will know Simon recanted. He will assume Simon panicked and lied to the police to save himself."
"Will he suspect Simon talked to me?"
"Preston considers Simon a coward, but he does not consider him a traitor." A progress bar appears on the screen, illuminating Malcolm’s face in the dim loft. "He will assume Simon cracked under the pressure of the media attention. He will not realize you orchestrated the recantation until the files hit the Tribune."
"And when they do?"
Malcolm stops typing. He looks at the screen, watching the files duplicate onto the secure server.
"When they do," he says, his voice completely flat, "Preston will realize he has nothing left to lose. He will stop trying to manipulate the board, and he will attempt a direct, physical retaliation."
A cold shiver runs down my spine. "He’ll send his contractors."
"He will send anyone he can buy." Malcolm turns his head, his dark eyes locking onto mine. "Which is why we are not leaving this loft until the federal authorities have Preston in custody."
I nod slowly. The reality of the situation settles over me, heavy and suffocating. We are safe in this bunker, but we are effectively trapped here until the fallout clears.
The progress bar on the screen hits one hundred percent.
Malcolm unplugs the USB drive and hands it back to me. "The files are secured on the server. I am initiating the transfer to the prosecutor’s office now."
He hits a key. A small confirmation window pops up on the screen.
Transfer Complete.
