The gun pressed against my temple was cold, but James Rodriguez’s laugh was colder. I forced myself to stay still, even as my heart threatened to burst from my chest. Through my swollen eye—courtesy of trying to escape earlier—I could see Alex standing in the warehouse doorway, his face a mask of carefully controlled rage.
I met Alex’s eyes, seeing the pain there.
“He’s been working with DuPont for years,” I said, my voice hoarse.
“Sabotaging deals, leaking information. The Singapore merger, the Tokyo expansion—it was all James.”
“And dear old Dad never suspected a thing,” James spat. “Too busy grooming his perfect son to notice the other one making his own arrangements. Did you know, Sonia, that Marcel DuPont offered me everything Alex had and more?”
“You’re working with a
