Chapter 3 - The Safehouse War Room"Drive! Get us out of here now!" Brooke screamed as she scrambled into the back of the Suburban, pulling Lily into her lap.
The driver, Marcus—a hulking former Special Forces operative with a military fade—didn't hesitate. He slammed his foot on the accelerator, tearing out of the subterranean garage just as two grey SUVs spun into the driveway, attempting to block the exit. Marcus clipped the bumper of the lead vehicle with a violent CRASH, sending sparks flying across the concrete, and burst out into the pouring Charlotte rain.
Ten minutes later, the rear door opened at a secure parking structure three miles away. Reid stepped inside, perfectly composed, though his white shirt was slightly damp from the rain. He took one look at Brooke’s pale face and knew instantly something had gone wrong.
"She showed him the text," Marcus said, keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror. "They tracked her inside the terminal."
Reid took Brooke's phone and stared at the threat. A dark, terrifying expression settled over his features. "They made a fatal mistake."
"They're going to put me in prison, Reid!" Brooke sobbed, the adrenaline finally breaking her composure. "Trevor set up digital signatures under my name! I signed tax documents three months ago because he told me they were for our house refinancing! It was the corporate authorization forms, wasn't it?"
"Yes," Reid said, sitting beside her and gently taking her shaking hands. "Trevor used your identity as a shell company director. When the forty million vanished from Vance Logistics, it went into an account opened with your Social Security number."
"I'm going to lose my daughter..."
"Look at me, Brooke," Reid commanded, his tone so ironclad and absolute that her panic instantly froze. "Look at me. I built Vance Logistics from a garage with zero dollars. I know every single line of code, every banking node, and every loophole in international finance. Trevor Madsen is an amateur playing with matches. He thinks he set a fire, but he just handed us the matchbook."
"What are we going to do?"
Reid clicked open a silver briefcase resting on the seat across from them. Inside lay three liquid-cooled servers, sat-phones, and high-frequency trading terminals.
"We aren't going to defend you," Reid said, a terrifying smile creeping onto his face. "We are going to completely obliterate them. Chloe Sterling didn't act alone. She's backed by a syndicate out of Chicago that specializes in corporate asset stripping. Trevor is just their fall guy. But Trevor doesn't know that. He thinks Chloe loves him."
Reid pulled up a live audio stream on his laptop. The sound of glasses clinking and laughter echoed through the vehicle's speakers.
It was Trevor’s voice.
"She took the bait, Chloe," Trevor was saying over the wiretap. "Brooke got the text. She’s terrified. By midnight, she'll sign the full confession just to keep the baby out of foster care."
"Good," Chloe’s cold voice replied. "And what about Vance?"
"Vance is ruined. The news is running the deepfake story nationwide right now. By tomorrow morning, the takeover is complete, and we split the forty million payout."
Brooke sat stunned, listening to the man she had loved for half a decade casually plan her utter destruction. The tears in her eyes dried up, replaced by a cold, burning rage she had never felt before in her life.
"Reid," Brooke said, her voice dropping all hesitation. "Tell me what to do."
Reid looked at her, impressed by the sudden change in her eyes. "First, we let Trevor think his plan is working. You are going to text him back. You're going to agree to meet him at the Gala tonight."
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"What Gala?"
"The Vance Annual Shareholders Gala," Reid grinned wickedly. "The party where they think they are celebrating my downfall. They invited three hundred of the richest investors in the country. And you, Brooke... you're going to be my key witness."
