Chapter 4 - The Accusation“Look at me,” Audrey choked out, her voice trembling with a mixture of fury and absolute devastation. “You think I let myself get dragged out of a car, beaten by two thugs, stitched up in a charity hospital, and hunted down by a Ford Explorer just to play a long game for Marcus Vance?”
Adrian didn't flinch. He didn’t step back. He stood immovable, his dark eyes studying her with the detached precision of a surgeon evaluating a malignant growth.
“Vance is a theatrical man,” Adrian said evenly. “He likes grand gestures. A public beating. A cryptic message left at a hospital. ‘The books are closed.’ It’s a message written in an accountant’s language, Audrey. And you’re the only accountant in Chicago who speaks it fluently.”
“I didn't know!” Tears of sheer frustration finally broke past her defenses, spilling hot and fast down her cheeks, burning against her bruised skin. “For five years, I gave you everything! I skipped holidays, I lived in a shoebox apartment, I lied to federal investigators, I covered up shipments that would have put you away for three consecutive life sentences! And you—you think I’m a plant?”
“If you aren’t,” Adrian said, his voice hard as iron, “then explain why the security feed from your apartment building shows Marcus Vance’s personal attorney walking into your unit three nights ago carrying a matching envelope.”
Audrey stopped crying. The tears froze on her cheeks.
“My apartment?” she whispered. “That’s impossible. I haven't had visitors in months. I go from the office to my apartment and back again. Ask the doorman—”
“The doorman was found dead in the alley behind your building forty minutes after you called my private line,” Adrian said quietly.
The vault seemed to shrink around them, the steel walls closing in.
Audrey stared at him, the horrifying weight of the trap settling over her. Someone had used her name, walked through her doors, killed an innocent old man, and set her up to take the fall for a war she didn't even know was being fought.
“They’re framing me,” she whispered, her knees finally giving out.
Before she could hit the concrete floor, Adrian was there. His strong arm swept around her waist, lifting her effortlessly against his chest. He didn't drop her into a chair this time; he carried her over to a narrow leather cot in the corner of the vault, gently setting her down.
“I know,” Adrian said, his voice losing its icy edge, replaced by a dark, dangerous rasp.
Audrey looked up at him as he knelt beside the cot, his large hand resting on the edge of the mattress near her hip.
“You know?” she asked, her voice small.
“If I thought you were working for Vance,” Adrian said, his jaw tightening as he looked down at her bruised face, “you wouldn’t be sitting in my vault right now. I would have left you at Lakeview Memorial for the police to pick up.”
He reached out, his thumb gently wiping away a stray tear from her cheek—a touch so tender it contrasted violently with the brutal reality of their world.
“Instead,” Adrian whispered, “I brought you here. Which means you and I have only one option left.”
May you like
“What’s that?”
“We find Vance before he finds us. And we burn his books to the ground.”
