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The sound of the key turning in the lock was the loudest noise Elena had ever heard. / Chapter 3 / 6

Chapter 3 - The Ghost in the Ledger

Roman’s eyes flicked to his phone, which he held in his left hand while keeping his gun trained on Marco with his right. He swiped the screen.

It was a screenshot of a Swiss bank account transaction. Five million dollars had been transferred into an offshore account just three hours ago. The authorization signature at the bottom of the document wasn't his.

It belonged to Elena Marsh.

The digital footprint showed that the security codes used to deactivate the estate’s outer perimeter gates had been generated from Elena’s laptop at her desk in the Valtieri corporate tower.

"She set you up, Roman!" Marco mocked, backing into the elevator doors with Mia. "Who do you think told us about the Pier 19 drop? Who do you think gave us the schedules? The quiet ones are always the rats!"

Roman’s gaze drifted for a split second, a lethal flash of doubt crossing his eyes. Was it possible? The woman who had made him coffee, who had looked at him with wide, innocent eyes under a dusty desk—was she a mole?

"Don't listen to him, Roman!" Mia screamed, tears streaming down her face. "She wouldn't!"

With a harsh laugh, Marco pulled Mia into the elevator. The doors slammed shut and locked from the inside.

Roman roared, firing a volley of bullets into the reinforced steel doors, but it was useless. They were heading to the helipad on the roof.

Roman sprinted out of the ballroom, his mind a chaotic warzone. He stormed out of the front mansion doors just as Elena ran toward him from the SUV, her eyes wide with worry.

"Roman! Is Mia okay? Did you get her?" she asked, reaching for him.

Before she could touch him, Roman grabbed her by the throat, pinning her against the hood of the SUV. The warmth in his eyes from earlier was gone, replaced by a terrifying, icy abyss.

"You signed the authorization," Roman growled, his grip tightening just enough to restrict her breath but not break her neck. "You gave them the gate codes. Five million dollars, Elena. Is that what my sister’s life is worth to you?"

Elena gasping for air, her fingers clawing at his massive hands. "I... I didn't... Roman... look at... the timestamp..." she choked out.

Roman stared at her, his chest heaving. The sheer terror in her eyes didn't look like the guilt of a traitor. Slowly, he released his grip. Elena slumped against the hood, coughing violently, rubbing her bruised neck.

"The timestamp..." she gasped, tears of pain welling in her eyes. "The transfer... was made at 8:15 PM. Roman... I was under the desk... at Pier 19... at 8:15 PM. I didn't have my laptop. They... they cloned my MAC address. Someone inside the office... someone who has access to my desk..."

Roman froze. She was right. He had called her at 8:10 PM. She was already trapped. She couldn't have authorized a wire transfer from a secure desktop terminal while hiding for her life.

"If it wasn't you," Roman whispered, the horrifying realization dawning on him, "then there is only one other person who has the master bypass key to your terminal."

Suddenly, a loud helicopter engine whirred to life above them. Marco was escaping with Mia.

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The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure terminal on my desk flashed a violent crimson. I hadn't slept in thirty-six hours, my eyes burning from staring at columns of ghost figures, duplicate invoices, and shell corporations linked to Dominic Rossi. But the red alert wasn’t from Rossi’s faction. It was an internal security flag originating from the estate’s main vault deep beneath the west wing.

The ink on the emergency audit report was barely dry when the secure ter...

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scattering the light from the chandeliers. The muffled laughter died instantly, replaced by a suffocating, heavy silence that crept outward from the grand staircase.

The glass shattered into a thousand tiny diamonds on the marble, scatter...

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking out the clinical, terrifying silence of the kitchen. Evelyn Crane stood stiffly in front of my mahogany desk, her hands folded over her apron with the rigid precision of someone who had spent decades micromanaging every square inch of my estate. Behind her, Norah hovered near the doorway, clutching her clipboard like a shield.

The heavy oak doors of my private study clicked shut behind us, locking...

"Elena," Roman said, his voice dropping to a deadly whisper. "Get in the car. We’re going to hunt down a ghost."

HOOK: As the helicopter lifted into the night sky, a lone figure stood on the roof, watching them from above. It wasn't an enemy soldier. It was Roman’s oldest ally, holding Elena’s missing laptop.

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