Beatrice did not scream.
She had always considered screaming a poor use of oxygen when there were more practical options available.
So when the library went black and she heard the unmistakable movement of a door opening behind her, she reached beneath the desk for the heavy brass letter opener she had noticed that afternoon.
Her fingers closed around it.
Footsteps.
Slow.
Controlled.
Not Bastion’s.
She knew his footsteps now.
That realization annoyed her almost as much as being trapped in darkness.
The laptop screen had died with the room’s electricity, but the encrypted drive remained connected.
Beatrice pulled it free.
The footsteps stopped.
“Ms. Abbott.”
She recognized the voice.
Dominic Shaw.
Bastion’s head of corporate security.
One of the seven people with access to the manifests.
“Dominic?”
Emergency lights flickered red along the baseboards.
His outline appeared near the doorway.
Tall.
Gray suit.
Calm expression.
One hand hanging beside him.
The other behind his back.
“You shouldn’t be working this late,” he said.
“I could say the same.”
“The building lost power.”
“Interesting timing.”
His gaze dropped toward her closed fist.
“You found something.”
Not a question.
Beatrice’s pulse quickened.
“I found that your hotel desperately needs a better electrician.”
He smiled.
There was no humor in it.
“Give me the drive.”
The same words the gunmen had used.
Everything inside her became cold.
“You sent them.”
Dominic’s smile faded.
“Give me the drive, Beatrice.”
She stood.
“No.”
“You’re intelligent. Don’t become foolish now.”
“Funny. Men usually tell me the opposite.”
He moved closer.
Beatrice backed toward the bookshelves.
“You have no idea what you found.”
“I know forty million dollars went missing.”
“You know numbers.”
“I also know criminals are remarkably boring once you put them in a spreadsheet.”
His jaw tightened.
Good.
Angry people made mistakes.
Beatrice continued.
“Twenty-three shell companies. Four offshore accounts. Three dormant trusts. And someone inside Bastion’s organization approving each transfer.”
Dominic stepped closer.
“You should have listened when your firm told you to stop.”
“So you pressured them.”
“I warned them.”
“Then hired two men to attack me?”
“I told them to retrieve the drive.”
“They had guns.”
“That was their choice.”
Beatrice almost laughed.
“The oldest coward’s defense in history.”
His face changed.
The mask slipped.
Only slightly.
But enough.
“You think he’ll protect you?”
“Bastion?”
“You’ve known him three days.”
“I’ve known you about forty seconds and I already prefer him.”
Dominic’s hand came forward.
A gun.
Beatrice’s humor vanished.
“Drive.”
She tightened her grip on the brass letter opener.
Then a voice came from the hallway.
“Put it down.”
Bastion.
Dominic froze.
Bastion stood in the doorway with two armed men behind him.
No expression.
No raised voice.
Just that terrible stillness.
Dominic turned slowly.
“Boss.”
“Put the gun down.”
“You don’t understand.”
“I understand you’re pointing a weapon at my guest.”
“She found—”
“I know what she found.”
Beatrice blinked.
Dominic did too.
Bastion took one step inside.
“The outage was deliberate. The moment the system went down, my security team received an alert from an independent circuit.”
Dominic’s face drained.
“You installed a second system?”
“After she was attacked.”
Bastion’s eyes shifted briefly toward Beatrice.
“I stopped trusting the first.”
Dominic laughed once, bitterly.
“So that’s it?”
“That depends on what you tell me.”
“You really think this is about money?”
Beatrice felt something in the room change.
Bastion did not.
“Explain.”
Dominic looked between them.
Then he lowered the gun.
One of Bastion’s men immediately took it.
“Forty million is nothing,” Dominic said.
“To you?” Beatrice asked.
“To what’s coming.”
Bastion’s eyes sharpened.
“What is coming?”
Dominic remained silent.
Bastion approached until they stood inches apart.
“You have worked for me for eleven years.”
“Exactly.”
“You ate in my home.”
Dominic looked away.
“You stood at my brother’s funeral.”
Silence.
“My mother trusted you.”
Something flickered across Dominic’s face.
Bastion saw it.
So did Beatrice.
“Who else?” Bastion asked.
Dominic’s jaw locked.
Then one of the guards touched an earpiece.
“Mr. Mercer.”
Bastion turned.
“We have movement downstairs. Service elevators. Multiple unauthorized entries.”
Dominic smiled.
And Beatrice understood.
The blackout was never meant to be subtle.
It was meant to open the building.
“Bastion,” she said.
He looked at her.
“We need to move.”
His decision came instantly.
“Secure room.”
“I need the laptop.”
“Leave it.”
“The beneficiary record—”
“Beatrice.”
“I am not spending three days reconstructing that work.”
A crashing sound erupted somewhere beyond the hallway.
Bastion swore.
Then he crossed the room, grabbed the laptop with one hand, took Beatrice by the wrist with the other, and pulled her toward a concealed panel in the library wall.
She resisted automatically.
“I can walk.”
“Excellent. Walk faster.”
They entered a narrow corridor behind the bookcase.
The panel closed.
Darkness swallowed them.
For several seconds, the only sounds were Beatrice’s breathing and Bastion’s hand sliding along the wall.
A small light appeared.
He had activated his phone.
The corridor was barely wide enough for both of them.
“You build secret passages into hotels?” Beatrice whispered.
“My architect enjoys drama.”
“You employ an architect who thinks like a nineteenth-century villain.”
“He’s very talented.”
Despite everything, Beatrice nearly laughed.
Gunfire sounded faintly outside.
Her humor died.
Bastion looked back at her.
“Stay behind me.”
“Why?”
“Because people are shooting.”
“That isn’t an explanation.”
“It is generally considered one.”
They moved down a narrow stairwell.
Beatrice’s bare feet—she had abandoned her shoes earlier while working—made almost no noise.
At the bottom, Bastion opened another reinforced door.
A small room waited beyond it.
Steel walls.
Two chairs.
Medical supplies.
Water.
A communications console operating on independent power.
“Safe room,” he said.
Beatrice looked around.
“You really are paranoid.”
“I prefer alive.”
“Fair.”
He locked the door.
Only then did Beatrice notice blood on his sleeve.
“Bastion.”
“It isn’t mine.”
“Comforting.”
She plugged the laptop into an emergency battery station.
The computer rebooted.
Bastion watched the security feeds.
Armed men moved through the upper floors.
His people engaged them.
The situation looked controlled, but not easily.
“Who are they?” Beatrice asked.
“I don’t know yet.”
“You know.”
“I have suspicions.”
“Names.”
He glanced at her.
She folded her arms.
“You remember how well refusing worked the first time.”
Despite the danger, something almost amused appeared in his eyes.
“The Serrano organization has been trying to push into my port operations for two years.”
“Competitors?”
“Something like that.”
“And Dominic works for them?”
“I don’t know.”
The laptop chimed.
The beneficiary file reopened.
Beatrice leaned forward.
Bastion came closer.
The encrypted identity record appeared.
Not Dominic Shaw.
Beatrice frowned.
Bastion went completely still.
The beneficiary was listed beneath the name of a trust controlled by—
Elias Mercer.
Bastion’s younger cousin.
His chief operating officer.
His childhood best friend.
The man whose signature appeared on half of Mercer Logistics’ international expansion.
Bastion stared at the screen.
For several seconds, he said nothing.
Beatrice knew enough not to fill the silence.
“Elias,” he finally whispered.
She studied him.
“That doesn’t necessarily prove he stole it.”
“You said the credentials were internal.”
“Yes.”
“And the beneficiary?”
“His trust.”
Bastion stepped away.
“Elias has been with me since we were boys.”
“That makes him close enough to know the systems.”
“He saved my life when I was nineteen.”
“That doesn’t mean he’s innocent now.”
His eyes snapped toward her.
Beatrice did not retreat.
“I know you don’t want to hear that.”
“You know nothing about him.”
“I know people change.”
“He’s family.”
“So?”
Something in Bastion’s expression hardened.
“To men like me, family is the only thing left when everyone else has an agenda.”
Beatrice’s voice softened.
“Then maybe that’s exactly why betrayal works.”
Silence.
The words hit him.
She saw it.
Bastion turned away.
On the security monitor, his people had regained control of two floors.
The attackers were retreating.
Beatrice opened additional records.
“Wait.”
A second beneficiary field appeared beneath the same trust.
She clicked.
Another name.
Dominic Shaw.
Then a third.
A holding company tied to Rafael Serrano.
“There,” she said. “That connects them.”
Bastion leaned over her shoulder.
His hand rested on the desk beside hers.
Close.
Too close.
Beatrice became suddenly aware of everything she did not want to notice.
The warmth of his body.
The scent of rain and cedar on his shirt.
The tension in his jaw.
The exhaustion beneath his eyes.
She had expected a monster.
Instead, she kept finding a man.
That was more dangerous.
Bastion straightened.
“Elias, Dominic, Serrano.”
“Looks like they built a fund together.”
“For war.”
“That was my first theory.”
He looked toward the monitor.
“And tonight?”
“Maybe they realized I was about to identify them.”
“So Dominic shut down the building.”
“And opened it for Serrano’s men.”
Bastion’s mouth hardened.
“He wanted you dead.”
Beatrice nodded.
The realization should have frightened her.
Instead, what frightened her was Bastion’s expression.
Not rage.
Guilt.
“This isn’t your fault,” she said.
His laugh held no humor.
“Everything under my roof is my responsibility.”
“Convenient philosophy.”
“What?”
“If everything is your fault, you never have to admit some people make their own choices.”
He stared at her.
“You always argue?”
“Nearly always.”
“You are locked in a steel room while armed men attempt to take my hotel, and you are criticizing my emotional reasoning.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re wrong.”
For the first time that night, Bastion genuinely laughed.
Quietly.
Briefly.
But real.
Beatrice smiled before she could stop herself.
Their eyes met.
The room changed.
It happened without permission.
A small shift.
A dangerous one.
Bastion’s gaze dropped to her mouth.
Beatrice noticed.
Her heartbeat accelerated.
She took a deliberate step back.
“No.”
His eyes returned to hers.
“I didn’t do anything.”
“You were considering it.”
“Considering what?”
“You know exactly what.”
A slow smile appeared.
“You are remarkably confident.”
“Don’t fall in love with me.”
His smile softened.
“Still worried?”
“I’m worried about myself.”
That erased the humor.
Beatrice regretted the words immediately.
Bastion took one step closer.
“Beatrice.”
She lifted a hand.
“Do not.”
“Why?”
“Because this is a terrible idea.”
“I agree.”
“You employ armed guards.”
“Yes.”
“People are currently trying to kill us.”
“Yes.”
“You may be a criminal.”
“That sounds judgmental.”
She almost smiled.
“This is not funny.”
“No.”
“Then stop looking at me that way.”
“What way?”
“Like you’re trying to decide whether breaking your own rules is worth it.”
Bastion’s voice dropped.
“I already decided.”
A pounding sound came from the outer corridor.
Both of them froze.
A voice spoke through the secure intercom.
“Boss. Floor is clear.”
Bastion stepped away.
The moment broke.
Beatrice released a breath she had not realized she was holding.
Ten minutes later, they emerged.
Three attackers had been captured.
Two of Bastion’s guards were injured.
Dominic was gone.
He had escaped through the service corridor during the attack.
And Elias Mercer had disappeared from his Manhattan residence less than twenty minutes before the hotel blackout.
The betrayal was real.
The war chest existed.
Forty million dollars was only the beginning.
By sunrise, Bastion’s organization was preparing for something far larger than an accounting investigation.
And Beatrice found herself standing in the middle of it.
She should have left.
Instead, she looked at the encrypted drive in her hand and said, “I want every company Elias touched in the last five years.”
Bastion stared at her.
“You nearly died tonight.”
“Yes.”
“You’re staying?”
“I haven’t finished the audit.”
He shook his head slowly.
“You’re insane.”
“Probably.”
Then his gaze softened.
And Beatrice realized the greater danger was no longer the men trying to kill her.
It was the man standing in front of her.