Chapter 9 - The Trap SpringsWithin twenty minutes, Cole’s tactical team had raided the fourteenth-floor design office. They didn't find Marcus Vance. They found something much worse.

Sitting at Harper’s executive desk, calmly sipping a cup of cold coffee while downloading the final batch of Crowe Meridian’s offshore tax files onto a thumb drive, was Elena Rostova—the ruthless chief financial officer of Crowe Meridian and Adrian’s most trusted corporate advisor for eight years.

When Cole kicked the glass door in, Elena didn't even flinch. She simply clicked her pen and smiled.

“Cole,” Elena purred, leaning back in the leather chair. “I wondered how long it would take you to notice. Too bad you wasted so much time playing bodyguard to a junior graphic designer.”

Back in the safehouse, Adrian watched the live camera feed on his tablet. The blood roared in his ears. Elena. The woman who had managed his books, laundered his capital, and stood by his side through every gang war in the city.

“Why?” Adrian spoke into the comm-link, his voice trembling with suppressed rage.

Elena looked directly into the security camera lens, her smile turning venomous.

“Because you went soft, Adrian,” Elena said clearly. “You let a soaked nobody break into your elevator, and instead of killing her or throwing her out, you gave her an executive office. You’re losing your edge. And someone has to run the empire when you’re too busy playing romance novels in the suburbs.”

Harper stood beside Adrian, watching the screen, her hands clenched into tight fists.

“She framed me,” Harper whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. “She used my terminal token while I was in the office to make it look like I was the leak.”

Adrian looked down at Harper. He saw the genuine terror, the confusion, and the total lack of guilt in her eyes. In that single, defining second, every instinct of his criminal past told him to suspect everyone—and every instinct of his heart told him to trust her completely.

He unclipped his holster, set his pistol down on the marble table, and looked at Harper.

“Do you trust me?” Adrian asked.

Harper swallowed hard, her blue eyes locking onto his. “You’re terrifying, you’re arrogant, and you kidnapped me to a secret safehouse.” She paused, then took a breath. “Yes. I trust you.”

Adrian nodded once. He picked up his secure satellite phone and dialed a single three-digit code to Cole.

“Cole.”

“Boss?”

“Don't arrest her.”

“What? Adrian, she’s stealing the entire liquidity of the syndicate—!”

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“Let her take the files,” Adrian commanded, his voice cold as arctic ice. “Let her transfer every last penny to the Swiss account. Because the moment she hits ‘enter’ on the final transfer, the routing number she’s using will trigger a feedback loop straight into the federal cybercrime division's most wanted database. Elena just stole thirty million dollars... from the CIA’s deep-cover asset fund that we manage.”

On the live feed, Elena’s smug smile suddenly vanished as her computer screen flashed a blinding, terrifying crimson: FEDERAL OVERRIDE DETECTED.