Chapter 8 - The Hidden LedgerThe underground bunker beneath the Cole estate was silent, save for the low hum of the air filtration system and the wet, rhythmic gasps of Miller, the rogue operative, who was currently suspended by his wrists from a steel ceiling beam.
Damien stood in the center of the concrete room, examining a small, encrypted flash drive he had pulled from Miller’s tactical vest.
"He's not talking, Boss," Marcus said, stepping away from the hanging traitor and wiping blood from his knuckles. "Says he was hired through an intermediary. Doesn't even know who actually wired the funds."
Damien didn't look up from the tablet he was plugged into. "He's lying. People like Miller always know who butters their bread; they just need the right incentive."
Damien walked over to a heavy metal table where a pair of industrial pliers rested next to a blowtorch. He picked up the pliers, his face a mask of absolute, chilling indifference.
Miller’s eyes widened in sheer terror as he saw Damien approach. "Wait—Cole, wait! I swear I don't know the big boss's name! I only took the contract because—"
"Because you thought I was getting soft," Damien finished for him, his voice dangerously quiet. He raised the pliers. "Let's test that theory."
Before Damien could apply pressure, the tablet screen on the desk flashed violently. A red alert box popped up, decrypting a hidden financial ledger embedded deep within the encrypted drive.
Damien stopped. His eyes scanned the scrolling lines of code and offshore bank transfers.
"Boss?" Marcus frowned, stepping closer. "What is it?"
Damien’s breath hitched. The blood drained from his face faster than it had when the little girls pointed at his compass tattoo.
It wasn't the Morettis funding the hit. It wasn't a rival syndicate.
The offshore accounts routing millions of dollars to fund the attack on his estate... belonged to Cole Holdings. Specifically, to an account that had been dormant for seven years.
An account registered under a name Damien hadn't spoken aloud since the night Rachel vanished.
"That's impossible," Damien whispered, his hand trembling slightly as he stared at the screen.
"Who is it, Damien?" Marcus asked, his hand dropping to his gun.
"It wasn't a mole," Damien said, a cold, sickening realization washing over him. "The leak wasn't from my inner circle."
The heavy steel door of the bunker suddenly unlatched with a loud, pneumatic hiss.
Damien and Marcus whipped their heads around. Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the harsh fluorescent lights of the underground corridor, was Rachel.
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She wasn't wearing her faded gray t-shirt anymore. She had changed into a clean black blouse. Her hair was still pulled back into a messy knot, but her eyes—those startling pale blue eyes—were completely, terrifyingly dry.
And in her right hand, she held Damien’s custom SIG Sauer, pointed directly at his chest with absolute, unwavering steadiness.
