The Second Coming of Atlas Prime

Chapter 27

"Someone is blackmailing us." Hannah's voice cracked as she paced across Anola's private study, her silk nightgown swishing around her ankles. "These photos... they'll destroy everything."

It was 2 AM. The mansion had finally settled into uneasy silence after the chaos of the failed rehearsal dinner. The three of them gathered in secret—Hannah trembling, Anola sitting rigidly at her desk, and Atlas standing by the door like a sentinel.

Anola's fingers whitened around her glass of scotch. "Keep your voice down. The walls in this house have always had ears." Her eyes darted toward Atlas. "We needed to speak with you immediately. Show him, Hannah."

Hannah thrust her phone toward Atlas, the screen displaying an image that made her cheeks burn with shame. Her, on her knees, face twisted in ecstasy as a man stood over her, a man whose face was obscured by shadow but whose build resembled James Reed's.

"These started arriving after the power failure," Hannah whispered. "One every fifteen minutes."

Atlas took the phone, scrolling through the images with clinical detachment. His face betrayed nothing as he viewed scenes he'd orchestrated himself, now being used against their participants.

"I received similar ones," Anola added, producing her own phone. "Though mine came with a message demanding five million dollars transferred to an offshore account by tomorrow night."

Atlas frowned, the perfect picture of professional concern. "May I see the account details?"

Anola handed him her phone. He studied it, knowing the account was a shell within a shell, untraceable by conventional means. His own creation.

"This is sophisticated," he muttered, just loudly enough for them to hear. "Professional-grade blackmail."

Hannah collapsed onto the chaise lounge, the very one where they'd engaged in their debauchery. "But how? How did someone get these images? We were alone."

"Were we?" Atlas asked quietly, setting both phones on the desk.

The two women stared at him.

"What are you suggesting?" Anola demanded.

Atlas moved to the window, peering through the curtains as if checking for surveillance. "Think about it. The power failure at precisely 9 PM. Mercer appearing with that circuit breaker, claiming to have prevented some kind of cyber attack."

"You think Mercer is behind this?" Hannah's eyes widened.

"I think it's an interesting coincidence," Atlas replied carefully. "He arrives, begins investigating the family, and suddenly compromising photos appear on the night he supposedly prevents a security breach."

Anola's expression hardened. "That bastard. He's been watching us? Recording us?"

"It's possible." Atlas turned back from the window. "The federal credentials give him access to surveillance technology beyond what normal security would detect. He could have planted cameras, microphones."

"But you..." Hannah hesitated, her eyes meeting Atlas's. "You are the one who could have these photos."

Atlas's expression shifted to one of wounded disbelief. "Me? Hannah, I've been protecting this family since I arrived. Why would I—" He stopped, shaking his head. "Actually, that makes sense."

"What makes sense?" Anola demanded.

"If Mercer wanted to blackmail you, he'd need someone to blame. Someone you already trust. Digital manipulation can put anyone's face on any body." Atlas moved closer, his voice dropping. "Have you considered what he's really after?"

The women exchanged glances, fear evident in their eyes.

"The Finnegan empire," Hannah whispered.

"Exactly." Atlas nodded grimly. "The wedding is in two days. Aaron's inheritance becomes finalized with the marriage. Mercer arrives, gathers compromising material, then applies pressure at the critical moment."

Anola stood abruptly, pacing with agitation. "I knew something was off about him. Too polished, too convenient."

"But what can we do?" Hannah asked, desperation edging her voice. "If these photos get out..."

"They won't," Atlas assured her. "But we need to be strategic. Pay the blackmail for now—buy time."

"Five million dollars?" Anola scoffed.

"A small price for the Finnegan reputation," Atlas countered. "Meanwhile, I'll gather evidence against Mercer. If he's federal, he's breaking multiple laws with this operation."

Hannah's eyes glistened with tears of relief. "You'd do that for us?"

Atlas knelt before her, taking her hands in his. The touch sent electricity through her, memories of their night together flooding back.

"I'm loyal to this family," he said softly. "To you."

Anola watched them, jealousy flickering briefly across her features before practicality reasserted itself. "What about Aaron? And the wedding?"

"Tell him nothing," Atlas advised, rising to his feet. "Proceed as planned. If Mercer suspects we're onto him, he'll release everything immediately."

"And the money?" Anola asked.

"I'll handle the transfer personally. Make it untraceable." Atlas moved toward the door. "But there's something else we need to consider."

"What?" both women asked simultaneously.

"Mercer has the DVD. Whatever's on it, he controls it now." Atlas paused, hand on the doorknob. "Which means someone else recorded us that night. We may be facing multiple blackmailers."

The color drained from Hannah's face. "The wedding is in two days. If someone releases these before then..."

"They won't," Atlas assured her. "Blackmailers want payment, not exposure. But after the wedding, when the Finnegan fortune is secured..." He let the implication hang in the air.

"We'll be dealing with this forever," Anola finished, her voice hollow.

Atlas nodded grimly. "Unless we identify and neutralize the threat completely."

He opened the door slightly, checking the corridor. "I'll begin investigating immediately. In the meantime, act normally. Especially around Mercer."

As he slipped out into the hallway, Atlas allowed himself a small smile of satisfaction.

The women who had once treated him as nothing were now completely dependent on him for salvation, salvation that would never come.

In his quarters, Atlas connected his encrypted phone to a secure terminal. The decryption program was making steady progress on Mercer's algorithms. Forty-two hours remaining, just enough time for the final phase.

His screen flashed with an incoming message: "Unexpected complication. Laboratory results confirmed. M. Finnegan death not poisoning. Natural causes."

Atlas froze, staring at the message in disbelief.

If Marius hadn't been murdered…

Then his revenge was built on a lie.