Chapter 3 - THE GHOST OF SEATTLEThe rain lashed against the bulletproof windows of the east wing like handfuls of gravel.
Dominic stood over the desk in his private war room, studying the schematics of his own mansion. Every brick, every electrical conduit, every structural beam was mapped out in glowing blue lines.
If the Architect wanted to bring down the Hale empire during the wedding, he wouldn't use a frontal assault. He would use the house itself.
"Sir," muttered Marcus, the head of his elite tactical strike team, stepping into the room with a heavy tablet. "We hacked Jack’s personal burner phone. The ping traces lead straight to a private hangar at Seattle-Tacoma International. But it gets worse."
"Talk," Dominic commanded, his eyes fixed on the blueprints.
"Paige isn't in Seattle. The flight manifest was a decoy. Facial recognition algorithms just picked her up forty minutes ago on a traffic camera three miles from our northern perimeter."
Dominic’s head snapped up. "Here? In town?"
"Not just in town, Boss. She’s being held in the old municipal pumping station by the river. And the property is currently owned by a shell corporation tied directly to Victor Vance."
Victor Vance.
A cold smile touched the edge of Dominic’s mouth. Vance was his oldest corporate rival—a man who wore expensive suits, donated millions to charity, and ran human trafficking and drug tunnels beneath the city’s pristine veneer.
"Vance thinks he can play chess with me," Dominic said, reaching for his leather gloves. "He thinks by taking a terrified nineteen-year-old girl and turning my fiancée into a reluctant spy, he can break my focus."
"Do we mobilize the squad?" Marcus asked, his hand resting on his assault rifle. "We can level that pumping station in ten minutes."
"No," Dominic said, his voice dropping an octave. "If we go in with guns blazing, Vance kills the girl and destroys the leverage. This is a rescue mission, not a war. Not yet."
"And Claire?" Marcus asked cautiously. "She's still locked in the guest suite."
Dominic looked toward the heavy oak door leading to the hallway. He thought of her face when she dropped to her knees, begging him to stop asking questions because she was trying to protect her only living family.
"Release her," Dominic said quietly. "Bring her to the armory. If she wants her sister back, she’s going to earn it by helping me burn Vance’s empire to the ground."
Minutes later, Claire walked into the armory. Her face was pale, dark circles shadowing her eyes, but her chin was tilted upward with a stubborn, fierce defiance. She wasn't the trembling woman who had planted the bug. The terror had calcified into pure rage.
"You knew?" Claire demanded, her voice shaking slightly. "You knew Jack was the leak?"
"I know everything that happens under my roof, Claire," Dominic replied, handing her a heavy tactical vest and a suppressed sidearm. "The question is: do you want to play the victim, or do you want to help me gut the man who took your sister?"
May you like
Claire took the weapon, her hands steadying instantly as the cold steel met her palms.
"Point me to the bastard," she whispered. "I want to watch him bleed."
