The Billionaire's Silence

chapter 4

The private elevator was entirely lined with mirrors and cold polished steel Damien stood half a step in front of me his broad shoulders completely blocking my view of the digital floor indicator as we plummeted toward the basement garage

Where are we going? I asked my voice echoing off the metal walls

To your apartment Damien said without looking back You have forty-eight hours before your boxes hit the side,walk correctly?

I bit the inside of my cheek my face flushing red I didn't realize my financial ruin was part of our mutual survival plan

It’s a variable he replied smoothly as the elevator slowed to a smooth stop And I don’t leave variables unmanaged

The doors slid open with a heavy click The basement garage was dimly lit, filled with the low hum of building generators A sleek midnight-black sedan was idling near the exit armpits headlights cutting through the shadows A man in a dark suit stepped out of the driver's side the moment he saw us

Frank Damien said his voice carrying that effortless command even in the concrete expanse of the garage Take the service exit Avoid the main street cameras

Understood Mr Blackwood Frank said opening the rear door

Damien gestured for me to enter first I hesitated looking at the leather interior It smelled of expensive leather and cedar the exact same scent that clung to Damien Stepping into this car felt like stepping deeper into his world a place where I didn't belong and couldn't control the exit

Are you getting in Miss Carter or would you prefer to walk past Victor Kane in the rain?Damien asked quietly, leaning one hand on the roof of the car

I swallowed my pride and climbed into the back seat Damien slid in right after closing the door The interior was instantly silent, completely cutting off the sound of the city above us As the car pulled away navigating the dark underground turnsI pressed my back against the doorkeeping as much distance between us as the leather bench allowed

What happens tomorrow?I asked, staring at my lap. You said Marcus's code was used If he’s been dead for ten years who has it?

That is what you are going to find out Damien said turning his head to look at me The passing street lights from the underground vents cast long sharp shadows across his face You have the file code from the anonymous envelope I want you to trace the digital footprint of that archival access If someone inside Blackwood Dynamics used Marcus’s old credentials they left a ghost in the server

I’m an investigative journalist Mr Blackwood not a corporate hacker I countered turning to face him I look through public records, court dockets and tax filings I don't break into secure servers from my living room

You broke into my office well enough

That was a physical lock and a borrowed badge It didn't require a degree in computer science

Then find another way Damien said his voice flat and uncompromising Use your sources Talk to the night shift Find out who has been asking questions about the foundation collapse over the last few months Someone set this stage Elena They chose you because your paper is desperate enough to publish without checking the facts and they chose now because the anniversary is coming

My paper is not a 'pathetic rag'I snapped my temper flaring Mr Davis is trying to keep the lights on We print things that matter to real people People who get crushed when your construction sites cave in because someone wanted to save a dollar on steel

Damien’s jaw tightened I saw the muscle in his cheek twitch again the same raw reaction he’d had in the office when I mentioned his brother

You think you have me entirely figured outdon't you? he murmured leaning slightly closer The sudden shift in his weight made my breath hitch A cold greedy billionaire who sacrifices his own blood for a profit margin

The entries in that notebook don't lie I whispered refusing to back down even as my heart began to race Marcus was terrified He wrote about the silence going all the way to the top office

Marcus was twenty-four years old and out of his depth Damien said, his voice dropping into a register so low and fierce it sent a chill through me He didn't understand that the top office wasn't always mine

I frowned at my journalistic instincts firing despite the tension. What do you mean? You’re the founder

I built the tech Elena I didn't buy the land Damien said coldly He turned back to look out the window as the car finally broke out into the rain-slicked streets of Manhattan Ten years ago Blackwood Dynamics was a start up trying to survive a hostile takeover by older heavier money The executive seal didn't belong to me back then

I stared at his profile, my mind instantly re-evaluating the entry I had read Someone altered the procurement orders under the executive seal

Then whose was it?I asked leaning forward Who held the seal?

Damien didn't answer He watched the neon signs of the city blur against the wet glass, his face freezing back into that unreadable stone mask That Damien murmured turning his storm-grey eyes back to mine is the question you should be asking Find the owner of that seal ten years ago Elena and you'll find the person who holds my brother's diary today

Before I could press him for a name the sedan slowed to a crawl pulling up against the curb of a crumbling grey brick apartment building in the Lower East Side My building The neon pink eviction notice was still visible taped to the glass of the front door glowing like a shameful stain in the rainy dark

We’re here Frank announced from the front seat

I looked at the pink notice then down at my phone The forty-eight-hour clock was ticking I had no money story that was turning into a deadly labyrinth and a managing editor who would likely fire me the moment I walked into the newsroom without the city council zoning fluff

You have your phone Damien said his voice cutting through my panic You have the photo of the diary You have forty-eight hours to find the ghost in my server Miss Carter If you find something useful I will ensure your landlord tears up that notice before noon

I grasped the door handle, my fingers cold I looked back at him one last time He looked so detached, so isolated in the back of that expensive car surrounded by secrets he refused to share

I'm doing this for the truth Mr Blackwood I said firmly Not for you If the truth ends up pointing back to you anyway I will still publish it

Damien’s lips tilted into a tiny, almost imperceptible shadow of a smile I would expect nothing less from a journalist who risks prison for a headline Goodnight Elena

I opened the door and stepped out into the pouring rain The cold water hit my face instantly a sharp contrast to the suffocating heat of the sedan I slammed the door shut and watched the black car slide away into the dark New York traffic, its taillights disappearing like twin embers

I walked up the concrete steps of my building, my shoes soaking wet and ripped the pink eviction notice off the glass door with a sharp yank My phone vibrated violently in my coat pocket

I pulled it outwiping the rain off the screen with my sleeve It was a text from Mr Davis

Davis: Where is the zoning story Elena? The printers are waiting If it’s not in my inbox in twenty minutes don't bother coming in on Monday

I stared at the glowing text, my breath fogging in the cold night air I looked at the folder icon on my home screen the one containing the single-blurry photograph of Marcus Blackwood's diary

I was standing on the edge of a cliff and every choice I had left felt like a long dangerous fall I pushed the heavy glass door open and stepped into the dimmusty hallway of my building, my heart heavy with a terrible growing dread

I wasn't just chasing a story anymore I was right in the middle of it