Chapter 11
1799 Words
Liam's POV
The wood in the fireplace is real cherry. It’s expensive. It burns too fast.
I sat in the armchair in the back of the Sterling library. My shoulder was a mess. The bandage was leaking. A small, dark bloom on the white gauze. I didn't change it. The pain kept the room focused.
Felix stood by the window. He was checking his watch every thirty seconds. He was vibrating.
"The press is at the gates, Liam," Felix said. "Three networks. The New York Times. They want a quote about the lighthouse."
"No."
"They're saying you kidnapped her. Again. They're saying the fire was an attempt to cover the tracks."
"Let them."
I looked at the piece of wood on the table. The charred block Isabella had thrown to me. It sat next to a glass of scotch I hadn't touched.
It was a piece of oak. Burnt on one side. Rough. Heavy. It wasn't a jewel. It was a lie.
I picked it up. My thumb brushed the soot.
"Liam, the board is in the conference room," Felix said. "They’ve been waiting an hour. They saw the footage of you landing at the hospital. They saw the blood."
"The hospital was a mistake," I said.
"You were bleeding out. It wasn't a mistake, it was—"
"It was a breach of protocol," I interrupted.
I stood up. My vision swam for a second. The floor tilted. I gripped the edge of the desk.
Leverage. That’s all the world is. Who has the most weight on the end of the bar.
Right now, Arthur Vane had the weight. He had the daughter. He had the stone.
I had a piece of charcoal.
"Tell the board I’m coming," I said. "And Felix."
"Yeah?"
"Tell the security team to sweep the island again. Everything. Every rock. If she dropped a gum wrapper, I want it."
"She’s in the city, Liam. We saw the chopper land on Vane Tower."
I didn't answer. I couldn't.
If I thought about her in that building, the pain in my shoulder would move to my throat.
Interrupt the thought. Kill it.
"Conference room," I said.
The board of Sterling Tech is a collection of grey hair and high-yield expectations.
Twelve men. Two women. They sat around a table made of polished mahogany. They looked at me like I was a faulty line of code.
I sat at the head. I didn't lean back. The bandage was pulling.
"Mr. Sterling," Henderson said. He’s the lead shareholder. He owns 8%. He’s a man who measures life in basis points. "We’ve seen the news."
"The news is fiction," I said.
"You were on a private island. There was an explosion. Isabella Vane is back with her father. And you have a gunshot wound."
"A hunting accident," I said.
"In the middle of a gale? On a rock in Maine?"
"The deer are hearty up there."
Silence.
Henderson leaned forward. He smelled like peppermint and desperation.
"The Vane merger is a carcass, Liam. The stock dropped fifteen percent this morning. The SEC is asking questions about 'Bella Smith.' They want to know why a Vane heiress was on our payroll."
"She was an intern. She was qualified."
"She was a liability."
I looked at the table. I saw the grain of the wood. It was a closed loop.
"The merger is suspended," I said. "Not cancelled."
"Arthur Vane is claiming kidnapping," a woman named Sarah said. She sits on the audit committee. "He’s filing a civil suit. He wants five hundred million in damages for 'emotional distress' and 'corporate interference.'"
"He signed the immunity," I said.
"His lawyers are saying the signature was obtained under duress. During a fire. While his daughter was held at gunpoint."
I felt the heat under my collar.
I saw Isabella standing on the ledge. I saw her holding the gun.
She looked at me. She said—
Stop.
"The signature stands," I said. "I have the digital timestamp. I have the metadata."
"It doesn't matter," Henderson snapped. "The market hates a scandal. They want a statement. They want you to denounce the Vanes. They want you to tell the world that Isabella Vane is a manipulator who infiltrated this company."
"No."
"Liam, if you don't condemn her, you look like a co-conspirator."
"I am not making a statement."
"Why not?"
"Because it’s not strategic," I said.
"It’s not strategic?" Henderson laughed. It was a short, ugly sound. "It’s the only move we have. We distance ourselves from the girl. We pivot back to the core tech. We let the Vanes burn in their own mess."
"The 'girl' is the key to the Medusa core," I said. My voice was too low. Too hard.
"The core is a myth," Sarah said. "It hasn't been verified. Without the sapphire, it’s just a pile of encrypted junk."
I thought about the piece of wood in my library.
I thought about the way Isabella looked at the helicopter.
She wasn't a prisoner. She was a Trojan horse.
"The core is real," I said.
"Prove it."
"I don't have to prove anything to this board. I built this company. I am the majority shareholder."
"For now," Henderson said.
The room went cold.
I looked at Henderson. He wasn't looking at my face. He was looking at the door.
"The stock is at its lowest point in three years," Henderson said. "The institutional investors are nervous. They don't like a CEO who goes missing on weekends to chase heiresses. They like stability. They like dividends."
"I am the stability," I said.
"You’re a distraction, Liam."
Henderson pulled a folder from his bag. He slid it across the table.
"This is a formal petition," he said. "Signed by 42% of the voting power."
I didn't open it. I knew what it was.
"You’re calling for a vote," I said.
"A vote of no confidence," Henderson corrected. "The meeting is scheduled for Friday. 9:00 AM."
"You can't win that vote, Henderson. My mother still holds—"
"Your mother is a ghost, Liam. She hasn't been seen in fifteen years. The board has a right to question her mental capacity to hold voting rights. We’ve already filed the motion."
I felt the blood in my ears.
They were going after Catherine.
"You touch my mother," I said, "and I’ll liquidate this company before you can get to the parking lot."
"Liquidate it then," Henderson said. He stood up. "At least we’d get the par value. Right now, we’re watching you burn it for a girl who doesn't even want you."
They all stood.
One by one, they walked out.
The room was empty. The silence was heavy.
I sat there for a long time.
I looked at my hand. It was shaking.
I gripped the edge of the mahogany table. I squeezed until my knuckles turned white.
I wasn't thinking about the vote.
I was thinking about the lighthouse.
I was thinking about the way Isabella’s hair smelled like salt.
I was thinking about the way she looked when she climbed that ladder.
She didn't look back.
She didn't even say goodbye.
She just—
I hit the table with my good hand. The sound was like a gunshot.
"Felix!" I yelled.
Felix came in. He looked like he’d been listening at the door.
"Get the car," I said.
"Where are we going?"
"The Vane Tower."
"Liam, you can't. There’s a restraining order. There’s a lawsuit."
"I don't care."
"What are you going to do?"
I stood up. My shoulder screamed. I ignored it.
"I’m going to find out if she’s a partner," I said. "Or if I’m the only one left in the fire."
I walked out of the conference room.
I passed the windows. The city was out there. Millions of people.
I didn't see them.
I saw a white screen.
A blinking cursor.
And a woman who was too smart to be saved.
I reached the lobby. The press was there. The flashes started.
"Mr. Sterling! Is it true Isabella Vane is pregnant?"
"Mr. Sterling! Did you set the fire?"
I didn't stop. I didn't look at them.
I got into the back of the car.
"Drive," I told the driver.
"Where, sir?"
"The end of the world," I said. "Or 5th Avenue. Whichever comes first."
I reached into my pocket.
I pulled out the piece of charred wood.
I turned it over.
There, in the center of the black soot, was a small, clean spot.
Someone had rubbed it clear.
And written in tiny, precise letters was a single coordinate.
It wasn't a place.
It was a frequency.
I looked at the window.
I didn't smile.
I just breathed.
Square breaths.
One. Two. Three. Four.
We were hitting the bridge.
The water below was black.
The vote was on Friday.
I had three days to find her.
Or I had three days to lose everything I’d ever built.
The car sped up.
The city lights blurred into a long, white line.
A wall of light.
Just like the island.
"Liam?" Felix asked from the front seat.
"What?"
"Henderson has the banks on his side. If we lose the vote... you’re out. Permanently."
"I know."
"What’s the plan?"
I looked at the coordinate on the wood.
"I'm going to talk to a ghost," I said.
"Your mother?"
"No," I whispered. "The other one."
I closed my eyes.
The pain in my shoulder was gone.
Now, it was just the wait.
The long, cold wait.
The phone in my pocket buzzed.
An unknown number.
I answered.
"Liam."
It wasn't Isabella.
It was Julian.
"I’m standing in your mother’s garden," Julian said. His voice was a wet rasp. "And I’ve got a match. Do you want to talk about the vote now?"
The line went dead.
- Writer
