Chapter 6 - The Ghost on the Wire
Hearing Christian’s voice sent a violent tremor through Claire’s chest, but she clamped down on her emotions instantly, refusing to show weakness even to an empty speaker.
""You're dead, Christian,"" she said coldly, leaning forward between the front bucket seats. ""I watched your casket enter the ground. I spent two years untangling the mountain of debt you left behind while Julian dismantled everything we built.""
""What you buried was seventy kilos of pig iron and an empty Rolex,"" the voice replied without an ounce of remorse. ""If I had stayed alive five years ago, you would have been in the car with me when the fuel line ruptured. They wanted both of us, Claire. I took the fall so they would look away from you long enough for you to get inside the trust.""
""I got inside the trust on my own merit!"" she countered sharply, her knuckles whitening as she held onto the headrest. ""And I just took Julian down in front of the entire executive board.""
""You didn't take him down; you delivered him directly into their hands,"" Christian said, his tone grim. ""Julian wasn't running the embezzlement ring. He was their bagman. The real controllers let you expose him tonight because Julian had become a liability. You didn't execute a masterstroke, Claire. You triggered their cleanup protocol.""
The sedan swung violently into an underground industrial parking garage beneath a derelict shipping warehouse near the docks. The heavy steel roll-up door rattled shut behind them, plunging the cavernous concrete structure into dim yellow sodium light. The engine died, and the silence inside the vehicle was deafening.
""Get out,"" the blonde driver said, unclipping her seatbelt and reaching beneath her jacket to loosen her sidearm. ""He's waiting on sub-level three.""
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Claire stepped out onto the damp concrete floor, her heels echoing sharply in the vast space. As she walked toward the industrial freight cage at the end of the platform, the elevator cables groaned above. When the iron gate lifted, Christian was standing there. He was older, grayer at the temples, a jagged scar pulling the corner of his jaw tight, but his eyes held the exact same calculating intensity that had once conquered Wall Street.
""We have roughly forty minutes,"" Christian said, holding out a dark wool coat toward her, ""before Victoria tells them which safety deposit box Julian used.""
