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Aaron gently nudges Jesse forward with a hand on his shoulder. Jesse takes a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling, then nods before motioning Agent Mercer over to the couch.

I exhale a long, shaky breath. I’m exhausted. I feel sick from crying and lack of sleep. We’re not out of the woods yet. But as I watch the Feds start to realize they’ve been chasing the wrong lead, I feel a sense of satisfaction. We’re still standing, and Sebastian isn’t in handcuffs—yet.

He turns to me with raw, terrifying honesty in his eyes. He steps closer and hesitantly offers his hand as though he’s not sure I’ll take it.

“You saved me,” he says. “I am so sorry. For the lies, for the way I treated you, the way I demeaned your work, for—” he takes a deep breath, swallowing hard before continuing, “for becoming exactly what I promised you I wouldn’t.”

I tell myself I want to scream at him. I want to tell him that an apology doesn’t fix broken trust that easily. I want to give the Feds everything I have and walk out the door, never to see Sebastian King again. But none of that is true, no matter how much I hate it at the moment.

“Isabella, please,” Sebastian says, his voice cracking. “Please, tell me how I can make this right. Tell me how I can make this up to you.”

“Right now, let’s focus on saving you, the King Corporation, and my firm.”

“Then help me get the truth out there. I’m not doing this alone anymore. I need your help, and you’re the best person for this. Help me put my father in prison where he belongs.”

I look at Jesse and Aaron, both in deep conversation with Agent Mercer, whose brow is furrowed, a serious expression on her face. Even if Sebastian and I never fix things between us, we can fix this immediate problem. The right people have to be punished, and the innocent have to be exonerated.

“If we’re going to do this, we do it my way, not your way, and absolutely not your father’s way. And if I get any inkling that you’re not being honest, I walk. Is that clear?”

Sebastian doesn’t hesitate. “Crystal.”

35

ISABELLA

We spent the day with Special Agent Olivia Mercer, showing her all the evidence we’d collected, proving Sebastian was innocent and that Julian was behind the DOJ bribe. A headache pounds at my temples, and I’m starving, exhausted, and running on absolutely no sleep.

Mercer received a call that Julian had been tipped off by one of his lackeys that the FBI was looking for him. He headed to his private jet, preparing to leave the country for Vietnam, knowing there isn’t an extradition treaty in place with them.

Agent Mercer told us we could come to the airport only after making us promise that we would stay in the car and not interfere with the arrest.

“There!” Jesse shouts from the passenger seat, pointing through the windshield to where Julian’s private jet is taxiing toward the end of the runway.

“He’s going to get away!” Jesse shouts.

“The FBI will get him,” Sebastian calmly says. “Agent Mercer knows what she’s doing.”

The ride to the airport had been quiet, Sebastian appeared to be lost in thought the entire time.

“We have the evidence,” I say, the PR strategist in me trying to offer a lifeline of logic. “The leak, the DOJ bribery… it all points to Julian. You’re in the clear, Sebastian.”

“Am I?” He turns to me, a man standing precariously amidst the rubble of his life, unsure whether or not it will hold. “Dad gets arrested and my name is cleared. But the board can still choose to vote us out because they’ve been looking for a reason, and because the King name is tainted now, no matter how much evidence surfaces.”

“We’ll find a way through it,” I reply. “You hired me to do a job, and I’m going to do it.”

Our eyes meet, but before Sebastian can reply, the night explodes in blue and red sirens.

Four black SUVs scream onto the tarmac from the eastern hangar. They skid to a stop in a diagonal block formation, cutting off the Cessna’s path. I spot the silhouette of Special Agent Mercer through the windshield of the lead car.

The jet’s engines wind down, the high-pitched whine descending into a defeated groan.

“He’s stopping,” Jesse breathes, a note of relief in his voice.

“He has no choice,” Aaron says, bringing the Porsche to a jarring halt fifty yards back. “The pilot isn’t going to go against federal agents, no matter how much money Dad is promising to pay him.”

The four of us sit in silence for a beat, solemnly taking it all in. My professional brain is already drafting the press release:

Julian King Steps Down Amid Investigation. Sebastian King to Lead Recovery Efforts.