“You better.”
I ended the call, locked my computer, and shut the blinds. For the first time in months, I let myself lie back, shoes and all, and closed my eyes.
Whoever was coming for me, I’d find them.
And when I did, they’d wish they’d just stayed away.
Chapter Six
Gabriel
Something was wrong. I just didn’t know what. And that annoyed the shit out of me.
The board seemed inattentive. Bored, even. Twelve seats, eleven of them filled with the most expensive minds I could borrow, threaten, or buy.
“Three minutes, forty-eight seconds,” I said, checking the time and not bothering to look up. “That’s how long it took for the analysts to start a Reddit thread on the clause adjustment. We should have been faster.”
On my left hand, a patent lawyer with a face like a skeleton with skin stretched tight, started to object but caught my eye. He shut up. There was no way to argue about the obvious: If the market noticed, we were already too late.
“Run it again,” I said.
A woman from risk compliance blinked rapidly, palms flat on her laptop. “Even if we push a retraction-”
“It’s over,” I said. “No point in plugging holes in a burning ship. Let’s talk about what happens next.”
I scanned the room. The intern by the door, probably still using his college email address, fidgeted with the printedagenda. He’d be gone by the next meeting. This room was a hard place for slow learners.
Someone, probably risk compliance, cleared their throat. “We’re getting questions about the integration protocol. Especially the supervisor clause-”
“‘Babysitter clause,’” I corrected, because it’s what everyone would call it. “Don’t play word games. Why is it a problem?”
“It’s…nonstandard,” she said, voice shrinking. “Especially for someone with Ms. Reeves’ credentials.”
The table vibrated, a neat little hum I felt in my fingertips. Someone had set their phone to vibrate, and nobody moved to silence it. The silence had gone electric, all eyes on me. That was good. That was how it should be.
But even I wasn’t ready for the noise that followed.
The doors exploded open. Not literally - security glass hinges are designed to absorb impact - but Eliza made it look like something out of a thriller. She wore black, a picture of perfection like always, her hair tight and face tighter. “Gabriel, I need a word,” she said, voice absolutely subzero.
No one in the room even breathed.
“Now,” she said.
This was a test. Walk out with her, I lose ground in front of my own staff. Refuse, and the situation escalates; Eliza never bluffed.
I watched her, arms crossed, standing just inside the blast radius of the table. My lawyers looked at me for guidance. Eliza looked at me like I was a math problem she intended to solve, even if she had to kill the person who wrote it. Emphasis on the killing part.
Without moving, I watched her. It’s a small pleasure, seeing who sweats first.
Then I stood. “We’ll reconvene in ten.”
The room exhaled as one. I followed Eliza out, barely keeping up with her stride as she carved a path down the hall. The heels probably helped, but mostly it was the force field she projected - she could clear Times Square at rush hour just by walking in a straight line.
She turned into the first empty office, waited for me to enter, then shut the door with unnecessary force.
She didn’t sit. Neither did I.
“What the fuck is this?” she hissed, flipping her phone to show the contract addendum, highlighted in corporate-blood red.