Chapter 20
1035 Words
Another day in the Finnegan mansion.
Atlas stood at the window of his quarters.
A text message illuminated his phone: "Eastern Holdings officially withdrawing. Stock in free fall. Phase three complete."
He allowed himself a moment of satisfaction before deleting the message. The financial destruction of the Finnegan empire had begun, but the personal dismantling was even more gratifying.
Across the mansion, Anola stirred on her chaise lounge, consciousness returning in waves. Her robe was disheveled, revealing expensive lingerie underneath. She sat up slowly, hand moving to her head as memories filtered back – James Reed's passionate embrace, his skilled hands, then... nothing.
"He did it again," she murmured to herself, a smile playing across her lips. The sensation of complete satisfaction permeated her body, manufactured memories supplied by Atlas's power filling in the blanks. In her mind, they had shared another night of passion before he'd left to resume his duties.
Her phone rang, breaking her reverie. Aaron's voice came through, terse and strained.
"Mother, my office. Now. Eastern Holdings has pulled out of the merger."
"What?" Anola stood abruptly, clutching her robe closed. "That's impossible. The papers were ready to sign."
"Just get here."
Twenty minutes later, the core Finnegan family gathered in Aaron's office. Hannah stood by the window, carefully avoiding Anola's gaze. Aaron paced behind his desk while financial reports flashed across multiple screens, all displaying the same devastating news.
"Thirty-seven percent," Aaron snarled, jabbing a finger at the largest screen. "Our stock has dropped thirty-seven percent since markets opened. That's nearly two billion dollars of value, gone."
Atlas stood near the door, observing with practiced neutrality.
"There's something else," Aaron continued, turning to face them. "I've hired someone to investigate the security breach."
"Without consulting me?" Anola's voice was sharp.
Aaron's laugh was bitter. "Considering recent events, Mother, I thought it prudent to bring in outside help."
The office door opened, revealing a man in his fifties with salt-and-pepper hair and piercing gray eyes. His suit was expertly tailored yet understated, and he carried himself with the quiet confidence of someone accustomed to being underestimated.
"This is Victor Mercer," Aaron announced. "Former FBI, now private consultant specializing in corporate espionage and security infiltration."
The newcomer surveyed the room, his gaze lingering briefly on each face before settling on Atlas.
"Mr. Reed," Mercer said, inclining his head slightly. "Your reputation precedes you."
"As does yours, sir," Atlas replied, detecting the subtle challenge beneath the courtesy.
Mercer's smile didn't reach his eyes. "I've studied your file. Impressive career trajectory. Almost too impressive."
The atmosphere in the room shifted imperceptibly as everyone sensed the unspoken tension between the two men.
"Victor will be conducting a thorough investigation," Aaron explained, oblivious to the silent battle of wills unfolding before him. "Someone has accessed sensitive family information, and I want to know who."
"I'll need complete access," Mercer stated, his tone brooking no argument. "Every room, every device, every member of the household."
"Absolutely not," Anola objected immediately. "Some things must remain private."
Mercer turned to her, his expression polite but unyielding. "Mrs. Finnegan, privacy is a luxury you can no longer afford. Your family is under attack. The question is... from whom?"
His gaze slid back to Atlas, a calculated move that didn't go unnoticed.
"You suspect someone inside the house?" Hannah asked, her voice smaller than usual.
"In my experience, Mrs. Finnegan-to-be, the most dangerous threats rarely come from outside." Mercer's voice was soft, almost gentle. "They come from those already inside your walls, those you've given your trust."
Aaron clapped his hands decisively. "It's settled then. Victor has full access and authority. Everyone will cooperate completely."
Atlas maintained his composed exterior while mentally reassessing his strategy. Victor Mercer wasn't in any of his intelligence files, a significant oversight or a deliberate plant?
"Mr. Reed, perhaps you could show me the security control room," Mercer suggested, his tone deceptively casual. "I'd like to review the protocols you've implemented."
"Of course," Atlas agreed smoothly. "Though I'm curious why a man of your expertise would take on what amounts to a glorified babysitting job."
Mercer's eyes glinted with amusement. "I go where the challenges are, Mr. Reed. And this... this promises to be quite the puzzle."
As the two men left the office, Aaron caught Hannah's arm, holding her back.
"Keep an eye on Reed," he whispered urgently. "Something doesn't feel right."
Hannah's eyes widened with practiced innocence. "You think James is involved?"
"I don't know who to trust anymore," Aaron confessed, his face haggard from stress and lack of sleep. "Just... watch him."
In the security control room, Atlas and Mercer circled each other like wolves, their conversation seemingly professional while each probed for weaknesses.
"Interesting setup," Mercer observed, examining the monitors. "You've created blind spots in the east wing."
"Necessary for the family's privacy," Atlas replied smoothly. "Mrs. Finnegan was quite insistent."
"I'm sure she was." Mercer's smile was knowing. "Tell me, Mr. Reed, have you ever heard of dueling defectors?"
Atlas maintained his neutral expression. "Can't say that I have."
"It's a fascinating psychological phenomenon. When two opposing agents infiltrate the same target, each believing they're the only one." Mercer's eyes never left Atlas's face. "The dance they perform is exquisite. Each move calculated, each word measured. Like a chess game where both players think they're white."
"Sounds complicated."
"Oh, it is." Mercer stepped closer. "But the truly interesting part is when one realizes the other's true nature. That moment of recognition... there's nothing quite like it."
Atlas met the man's gaze directly. "And your point is?"
"No point." Mercer shrugged casually. "Just making conversation between professionals." He turned back to the monitors. "By the way, that pressure point technique you use... quite effective. Military background?"
The question hung in the air, its implication clear: Mercer had seen something he shouldn't have.
Atlas's mind raced through possibilities. Had Mercer been watching when he neutralized Anola? Did he know about the special abilities?
"Special forces," Atlas replied, maintaining his cover story. "You pick up useful skills."
"Indeed you do." Mercer nodded thoughtfully. "Indeed you do."
The game had changed. A new player had entered the field, one who might actually pose a challenge.
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