Chapter 1 - The Midnight Confession
The lie about the quarterly projections hung in the damp air between us like a shredded piece of paper. Gideon Shaw didn't move. He stood at the mouth of the alley, his dark eyes tracking every micro-expression on my face.
"The quarterly projections were filed on Tuesday, Tessa," Gideon said softly, his voice cutting through the hiss of the rain. "By you. On my desk at 4:00 p.m."
My throat tightened. I tried to pull my beige trench coat tighter around my shoulders, but my fingers shook violently.
Before I could invent another excuse, my phone buzzed against the concrete block where I had dropped it. Bzz-bzz-bzz. Three short vibrations. The custom text alert for Viktor Lane—head of regional logistics and one of Gideon’s senior corporate vice presidents.
The screen flashed green through the crack in my phone's glass: Don't keep me waiting long, little bird. I know where your brother’s clinic is.
Gideon’s gaze shifted from my face down to the glowing screen. He didn't have to strain to read the text. The dim green light reflected clearly in his dark eyes.
"Viktor," Gideon said, testing the name on his tongue as if it tasted like poison. He looked back up at me, his expression shifting from calm observation to a cold, predatory focus. "Hold out your right hand, Tessa."
"Mr. Shaw, please—"
"Hold it out."
Slowly, fighting the tremor in my arm, I extended my right wrist. In the harsh yellow light of the service bulb, the dark, purple-black hand-shaped bruise wrapped entirely around my skin stood out in horrifying relief.
Gideon’s jaw clenched so hard the muscle feathered along his jawline. For three years, Viktor Lane had operated out of the lower shipping docks, managing the company's freight distribution. He had also been quietly squeezing middle management and administrative staff with predatory private loans—a shadow operation running directly beneath Gideon's nose.
"Frank," Gideon called back toward the curb without breaking eye contact with me.
The black town car’s engine hummed louder. Frank stepped out of the shadow of the garage.
May you like
"Yes, Mr. Shaw?"
"Cancel my flight to Geneva," Gideon said, stepping into the alley and pulling off his leather glove to gently support my elbow, steering me away from the wet brick wall. "We have a leak in the foundation. And it's time to clean house."
