Behind The Mask

Chapter 12: The Golden Cage

POV : Fiona

My heart completely stopped.

I stared at the man sitting in the chair next to me. Maxwell looked incredibly smug, wearing a sharp black suit and a dark smile.

Two million dollars. My mind spun in absolute panic. How did he have two million dollars? The news reports said he had lost almost everything when his grandfather froze his assets. His new consulting firm was barely making rent in New York. Had he just spent every single penny he had left in the world on this charity project?

Just to force his way back into my life?

"Mr. Jordan?" Mr. Weber, the lead German delegate, broke the heavy silence. His face lit up with a huge, delighted smile. "You are the anonymous donor? This is wonderful news! The Jordan name is legendary in the business world."

"Thank you, Mr. Weber," Maxwell said smoothly. He didn't look at the delegate. His eyes were burning holes directly into the side of my face. "I have decided to shift my focus toward global philanthropy. And when I saw the incredible work Ambassador Caldwell was doing, I knew I had to be involved. Personally."

Under the table, my hands were shaking so badly I had to clench them into tight fists.

He was doing it again. He was using his money to trap me. Three years ago, he bought my father's medical debt to force me to be his secretary. Today, he was buying schools for poor children to force me to sit in this room with him.

It was the exact same trap, just painted a different color.

"I think there has been a mistake," Julian's deep, calm voice cut through the air.

Julian leaned forward, resting his forearms on the marble table. He looked at Maxwell with icy blue eyes. Julian was a master diplomat. He knew exactly how to insult someone while sounding perfectly polite.

"Mr. Jordan," Julian said smoothly, a tight smile on his lips. "While your sudden generosity is surprising, the United Nations requires all large donors to pass a strict background check. Given the highly public... collapse of your former company, I am not sure your money will be accepted."

Maxwell’s jaw clenched. The muscle in his cheek ticked violently. He hated Julian. I could feel the waves of pure jealousy rolling off him in the small space between our chairs.

"My money has already cleared the bank, Mr. Mercer," Maxwell replied, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous warning. "Two million dollars, fully wired to the German Education Fund ten minutes ago. Unless you want to explain to thousands of children why you rejected the money that will build their schools, I suggest you hand me the pen."

Mr. Weber nervously cleared his throat, looking between the two angry men. "Well, yes. The money has indeed cleared our accounts this morning. We are incredibly grateful. Ambassador Caldwell, if we just have your signature, the deal is closed."

Mr. Weber slid the tablet across the table toward me.

I stared at the glowing screen.

Inside, I was screaming. I wanted to flip the table. I wanted to throw my hot coffee directly into Maxwell's arrogant face and storm out of the café. I wanted to tell the German delegates exactly what kind of cruel, heartless monster they were taking money from.

But I couldn't.

I looked at the pictures of the children on the tablet. These schools would change their entire lives. They would have clean water, books, and safe classrooms. If I rejected Maxwell's money just because of my own pride, I would be ruining the lives of innocent people.

Maxwell knew that. He knew my heart was too soft to punish children just to get away from him. He had played me perfectly.

I slowly picked up the electronic pen.

"Fiona," Julian whispered softly, leaning close to my ear. "You don't have to do this. I can make some calls. I can find another donor."

"No," I said, my voice was completely flat and hollow. "The children need this money today."

I leaned over the tablet and signed my name on the dotted line.

"Excellent!" Mr. Weber clapped his hands together. "Thank you, Ambassador. And thank you, Mr. Jordan. We will begin drafting the construction plans immediately."

"Actually, gentlemen," Maxwell said, his voice ringing out clearly in the private room. "There is one condition to my donation. It is in fine print."

I froze. I slowly turned my head to look at him. "What condition?" I demanded, abandoning my polite diplomatic voice.

Maxwell finally turned in his chair to face me fully. The smug smile was gone, replaced by a dark, intense hunger that made my skin crawl.

"I am not just writing a check and walking away, Ambassador," Maxwell said smoothly. "As the primary investor, I require full oversight of the project. I want to see exactly how my money is being spent."

My stomach dropped. "We send out monthly email reports to all our donors," I snapped.

"Emails aren't good enough," Maxwell countered. He leaned closer to me, lowering his voice so only Julian and I could hear the finality in his tone. "I will be working on this project directly. Every single day. In fact, I have already arranged for a temporary office in the UN building. Right next to yours."

The air completely rushed out of my lungs.

"You can't do that," I breathed, my eyes wide with horror.

"I already did," Maxwell replied calmly. "And when the team flies to South America next month to break ground on the first school, I will be on the private jet with you. Every meeting, every site visit, every dinner... I will be there."

Julian suddenly stood up, his chair scraping loudly against the marble floor. His eyes were blazing with furious anger. "This is completely unacceptable. You cannot buy your way into the Ambassador's daily schedule..."

"Julian," I interrupted sharply.

I stood up slowly, keeping my eyes locked on Maxwell.

He had gambled everything to do this. He had thrown away his last dime just to force me into a room with him. He thought this would break me. He thought spending time with him would make me remember the sweet lies he used to tell me.

He didn't realize that the fire inside me was no longer a warm spark. It was an inferno.

"It's fine, Julian," I said, my voice dripping with pure, freezing ice. I looked down at Maxwell, who was looking up at me like a man waiting for his execution.

"If Mr. Jordan wants to waste his days watching me work, he is welcome to," I told Maxwell, my voice cold enough to freeze water. "But you should know something, Maxwell. Two million dollars might buy you a desk in my building. But it will never, ever buy you a single second of my time."

I grabbed my purse, turned on my heel, and walked out of the private room, leaving Maxwell, exactly where he belonged.

In my shadow.