Chapter 31
1158 Words
"What exactly do you mean Anola is 'in deeper with Westfield'?" Atlas gripped Hannah's arm as she attempted to leave the garden.
Hannah winced, glancing toward the mansion. "Exactly what I said. They've been in contact for years."
"That's impossible. They're sworn enemies." Atlas released her, mind racing through the implications. "Marius and Westfield nearly came to blows at the Chamber of Commerce dinner five years ago."
"Public enemies, private collaborators." Hannah straightened her torn blouse, attempting to make herself presentable. "I discovered it by accident. Overheard a phone call about three months ago. Anola speaking about 'our arrangement' and 'maintaining appearances.'"
Atlas's jaw tightened. "You're saying she's a double agent? Working against her own family's interests?"
"It's more complicated." Hannah checked her reflection in her compact mirror, wiping away traces of their encounter. "I think she has her own game. Neither fully loyal to the Finnegans nor completely in Westfield's pocket."
"Why wouldn't you tell Aaron?"
Hannah's laugh was brittle. "Would you believe your mother capable of betrayal? Besides, I had no proof."
"But you're telling me."
She met his eyes directly. "Because I'm choosing a side. Yours."
Atlas watched her leave, her hips swaying slightly as she navigated the garden path. The revelation about Anola changed everything. If she was working with Westfield while simultaneously manipulating her own son...
His phone vibrated. Mercer's name flashed on the screen.
"We need to meet. Now. Westfield is making his move."
...
The security room was dimly lit, multiple screens displaying various parts of the mansion. Mercer stood before them, his normally composed face tense.
"Westfield's dumping his hedge fund holdings," Mercer explained, pointing to financial data streaming across one monitor. "Liquidating everything to free up capital."
"For the takeover," Atlas concluded.
"Exactly." Mercer turned to face him. "But there's more. I've traced communications between Westfield and someone inside this house. Encrypted, but the pattern is clear."
Atlas leaned against the console. "Anola."
Mercer's eyebrows rose slightly. "How did you-"
"Hannah told me. Apparently, our matriarch has been playing both sides."
"That complicates things." Mercer rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "If Anola's involved, the entire structure of this operation changes. She could be feeding Westfield information about my investigation."
"Or about me," Atlas added. "If she suspects who I really am."
"Does she?"
Atlas considered the question. "I don't think so. Otherwise, she'd have exposed me already."
The door opened suddenly. Anola herself stood framed in the doorway, her tailored suit impeccable despite the early hour.
"Mr. Reed, a word." Her tone left no room for refusal.
Atlas exchanged a glance with Mercer before following her into the corridor. She led him to a small sitting room, closing the door firmly behind them.
"The emails Aaron received this morning. Did you send them?" Her voice was ice.
Atlas maintained his James Reed persona, expression neutral. "What emails, ma'am?"
"Don't play dumb with me." Anola moved closer, invading his space. "Someone sent Aaron a series of threatening messages. Something about evidence of his business dealings."
Atlas kept his face impassive while his mind raced. Hannah must have made her move already, leveraging the situation for her own protection.
"Perhaps Mr. Finnegan's business practices have attracted unwanted attention," he suggested carefully.
"This isn't external. It's someone inside our circle." Anola's eyes narrowed. "Someone who knows too much."
"And you suspect me?"
"I suspect everyone," she replied coolly. "Especially those who appear exactly when needed, with precisely the right skills."
Atlas countered with his own offensive. "Like Victor Mercer?"
Something flickered across Anola's face, it was surprise, but she quickly masked it. "Mercer is Aaron's hire, not mine."
"Yet you've had several private conversations with him. Three in the east wing study, one in the garage."
Anola's composure faltered momentarily. "You've been watching me?"
"It's my job to monitor security threats, ma'am. Your behavior has been... noteworthy."
"My behavior?" Her laugh was brittle. "That's rich, coming from the man who's been f*****g both my daughter in law to be and myself."
Atlas stepped closer. "Are we really discussing personal behavior, Mrs. Finnegan? Because I could ask about your late-night phone calls to Richard Westfield."
The color drained from Anola's face. "You're mistaken."
"I don't think so." Atlas circled her slowly. "The question is why? Money? Revenge against Aaron for some slight? Or perhaps something more personal?"
Anola's mask cracked completely. "You know nothing about my reasons."
"Then enlighten me."
She turned away, moving to the window. For a long moment, she stood in silence, fingers tracing patterns on the glass.
"Marius wasn't the saint everyone believes," she finally said, voice barely audible. "Behind closed doors, he was cruel. Controlling. The perfect business partner, the perfect father in public. A monster in private."
Atlas hadn't expected this. "And Westfield?"
"Offered a way out." Anola turned back, her eyes hard. "A substantial settlement if I helped him gain control of certain Finnegan assets after Marius's death. Enough for me to disappear, start over."
"But you didn't take it."
"I couldn't leave Aaron to handle everything alone. Despite his flaws, he's my son."
Atlas studied her, looking for deception. "So you've been playing both sides. Feeding Westfield information while protecting Aaron from complete ruin."
"A delicate balance." Anola stepped closer. "One you're now threatening."
"Me?" Atlas raised an eyebrow.
"Don't pretend innocence. Since your arrival, everything has unraveled. The Eastern Holdings deal, the security breach, Aaron's growing paranoia..." She reached up, fingers ghosting along his jaw. "Who are you really, James Reed?"
The air between them charged with danger and something else – a familiar heat. Anola's fingers traced his collar, dipping beneath to touch skin.
"Someone who understands playing multiple sides," Atlas replied, allowing her to move closer.
"Prove it." Anola's voice dropped to a whisper. "Show me where your true loyalties lie."
Her lips were inches from his, eyes challenging.
"Is that what you did with Westfield?" he asked, hands finding her waist. "Sealed your deal in the bedroom?"
Anola's laugh was throaty. "Westfield is a means to an end. Power is the only true aphrodisiac."
"And what am I? Another pawn in your game?"
Her hands slid down his chest, finding his belt. "That depends entirely on how you play the next move."
"And if I refuse?" Atlas caught her wrist.
Anola's smile turned predatory. "Then I tell Aaron exactly who's been in his fiancée's bed. And his mother's."
Atlas knew a cornered opponent when he saw one. Anola was desperate, making bold moves to regain control. What she didn't realize was that she'd just handed him the perfect opportunity.
"Blackmail, Mrs. Finnegan? I expected better strategy."
She pressed against him, body heat radiating through expensive fabric. "Not blackmail. Negotiation. I have what you want, you have what I need."
"And what exactly do you need?" Atlas asked, already knowing the answer.
Anola's fingers resumed their exploration, deftly unbuttoning his shirt. "Make me forget, just for a while, that everything is falling apart."
- Writer
