Chapter 3: The Ledger
724 Words
The SVD kicked like her father’s old hunting rifle. The shot echoed up through the riad, swallowed by stone and night.
Three hundred meters. Crosswind. She didn’t breathe for five seconds before she squeezed.
The camera feed showed the target. Gel head vaporized. Pink mist.
Sabastian lowered his binoculars. No nod this time. Just a long look. Recalculating.
“You set the timetable,” he said.
She set the rifle down. Her shoulder ached. Her hands were steady. “We hit the airport. Tonight. Before Derek sets up.”
“Not the airport.” He moved to a desk built into the armory wall and pulled out a leather folio. Thick. Old. The corners were soft with age. “Victor’s not at the airport. He’s at the Selman. And this is why.”
He opened it. Spreadsheets. Accounts. Names. Dates. All in her father’s handwriting. Lancaster Holdings private ledger. The one that vanished after the crash.
“How did you get this?” Her throat closed.
“Victor had it. For five years. Used it to bleed every Lancaster subsidiary dry.” Sabastian’s finger traced a line. _V. Cross – 200M transfer – Geneva – 06/12._ The date her parents died. “My father bought it last month. Black market. Cost me a lithium mine in Chile.”
She touched the page. The paper was real. The ink was her father’s. For five years she’d hunted rumors. Here was proof.
“Why would your father buy it?”
“Because page forty-seven lists the AI patents Victor stole from us in ’97.” He flipped. More names. More numbers. Then he stopped. Tapped a name. “And because of her.”
_A. Vance – Elissa. Trust payout. 10M. Terminated._
His brother’s fiancée. The one Victor took.
“She wasn’t terminated,” Yvonne said. The word tasted like bile. “None of them were. They were erased.”
“They were leveraged.” He closed the folio. “Victor used that money to buy the votes that delisted Lancaster Holdings. Your parents died for a board seat.”
The room tilted. She gripped the desk. Five years of running, and the truth was worse. Not just murder. Corporate cannibalism. Her family was a line item.
“So we burn it all,” she said. Voice flat. “Stock. Holdings. Him.”
“First we bleed him.” Sabastian opened a drawer and pulled out a phone. Not his. Burner. He slid it to her. “Derek’s number is in there. From two hours ago. Tower pinged near the medina. He’s not at the Selman yet. He’s hunting.”
She stared at the phone. Derek’s number. She’d deleted it a thousand times in her head. Never thought she’d see it again.
“What do you want me to do? Call him?”
“I want you to text him.” Sabastian leaned on the desk. Too close. Again. “From Jane Miller. Wrong number. Say you found his wallet in the riad. Tourist lost and found. He’ll come. Derek never could resist a damsel or a payday.”
“And then?”
“Then we see if Yvonne Lancaster can lie better than she shoots.” His eyes went dark. Not with desire. With war. “Because if he walks through that door, only one of us walks out.”
She picked up the phone. It was cold. Like the tea. Like her blood.
She typed: _Hi, I think you dropped your wallet at Riad Almohad. Room 3. It has your initials. DC. I’m leaving Marrakech tomorrow. Do you want it? – Jane_
Send.
The call to prayer started again outside. Night was fully here now. The city belonged to Cross.
Her phone buzzed in under thirty seconds.
_DC: You have no idea how important that is. I’m 10 min out. Please don’t leave. Name your price._
She showed Sabastian the screen.
He smiled. Actually smiled. A leveraged buyout finally closing.
“Price is his life,” she said.
“Price is his father’s empire,” Sabastian corrected. He pulled a second VI-9 from the wall and held it out to her. “But we can start with his life.”
She took the gun. It was warm from his hand.
Outside, tires crunched on the alley cobblestones. Too fast. Too many.
Derek wasn’t coming alone.
- Writer
