The burner phone felt like a block of ice in Elara's pocket.
The rain had turned into a thick, clinging fog as the Maybach sped away from the Hay-Adams. Alexander was silent, his profile etched in the harsh glow of the passing streetlights. He was still vibrating with the urge to go back and finish what he started, his fingers tapping a lethal rhythm against his knee.
"He's going to kill her, Alexander," Elara whispered, staring at the text on the glowing screen.
"Chloe is a rat jumping from a sinking ship," Alexander said, his voice a jagged rasp. "She'll say anything to get you to pull her out of the fire. It's likely another trap. Richard is desperate."
"But what if she's right?" Elara turned to him, her eyes wide and burning with a sudden, agonizing hope. "The stroke was so sudden. My mother was healthy, Alexander. She was fine one day, and the next, she was a prisoner in her own body. I never questioned it because I was too busy drowning in grief. But if Richard... if they did something..."
Alexander looked at her, and the murderous fire in his eyes softened into something deep and protective. He reached out, his large hand cupping the back of her neck, pulling her forehead against his.
"Liam," Alexander barked.
"Already rerouting to the old pier, Boss," Liam replied from the front. "But we have a tail. Two black SUVs just pulled out of the garage behind us."
"Lose them," Alexander commanded. "And call the Vance security detail. I want that pier surrounded before we even touch the pavement."
The Old Pier. 2:15 AM.
The pier was a skeletal remains of rotted wood and rusted iron, jutting out into the black, churning water of the Potomac. The fog was so thick here that the world seemed to end ten feet in front of the car.
Alexander stepped out first, his gun drawn and held low against his thigh. He reached back, helping Elara out, his body positioned to shield her from any potential sniper fire.
"Chloe!" Elara called out, her voice swallowed by the damp air.
A small, huddled figure emerged from behind a stack of weathered shipping crates. Chloe looked like a ghost. Her designer dress was torn at the hem, her makeup smeared into dark hollows under her eyes. She was shaking so violently that her teeth were actually chattering.
"Elara?" Chloe's voice was a pathetic whimpering. She took a step forward, then flinched, looking over her shoulder into the darkness. "You came. I didn't think... I thought he'd catch me first."
"Where is Richard?" Alexander demanded, his eyes scanning the fog.
"He's at the hotel... he thinks I'm at the pharmacy," Chloe gasped, lunging forward to grab Elara's sleeves. Her hands were ice cold. "You have to help me. He's insane, Elara. When Julian got out tonight, they started talking about 'cleaning up the loose ends.' They were talking about me. And they were talking about her."
Elara gripped Chloe's wrists, forcing the girl to look at her. "Tell me about my mother, Chloe. Now."
Chloe swallowed hard, a hysterical sob escaping her. "It wasn't a stroke. Richard... he had a friend. A doctor at the clinic. They used a concentrated dose of an unlisted neurotoxin. It mimics the symptoms of a burst aneurysm perfectly. They just needed her incapacitated long enough to get Julian into the Vance accounts."
The world seemed to tilt beneath Elara's feet. A cold, black rage—more powerful than anything she had felt for Julian—surged through her. They hadn't just stolen her legacy. They had tortured her mother to death for a seat at a boardroom table.
"Where is the doctor?" Alexander asked, his voice a terrifying, quiet growl.
"Dead," Chloe whispered. "Richard disposed of him months ago. But I have the vials, Elara. I stole one from Richard's safe before I ran. It's proof. It's the only thing that—"
CRACK.
A single gunshot rang out, the sound muffled by the fog but unmistakably lethal.
Chloe's eyes went wide. She let out a soft, confused puff of air. A small, dark circle blossomed in the center of her forehead, standing out in stark contrast to her pale skin.
She slumped forward, her weight pulling Elara down with her.
"Sniper!" Alexander roared.
He tackled Elara to the rotted wood, his body a heavy, iron weight over hers just as a second bullet hissed through the space where her head had been a second before.
"Liam! suppressive fire!" Alexander screamed into his comms.
From the shadows of the parking lot, the Vance security detail opened fire, the rhythmic thud-thud-thud of suppressed rifles lighting up the fog.
Alexander didn't wait. He grabbed Elara by the waist, hauling her upright and sprinting toward the cover of a rusted crane. Bullets sparked off the metal, inches from his boots.
He shoved her into the small gap between the crane's engine block and a concrete pylon.
"Stay here! Do not move!"
"Alexander, no!"
But he was already gone. Alexander vanished into the fog, moving with a silent, terrifying speed. He wasn't running away; he was hunting.
Elara huddled in the dark, her hands pressed against her mouth to keep from screaming. She looked at Chloe's body, lying sprawled on the pier only twenty feet away. The girl who had been her tormentor, her sister, and finally, her only witness, was gone.
Then, she saw it.
Glinting in the dim light, clutched in Chloe's cold, dead hand, was a small, amber glass vial.
The evidence. The proof that her mother was murdered.
Elara looked toward the fog where the shots had come from. The gunfire had stopped. The silence was even more terrifying.
I can't just wait.
Elara kicked off her heels. She crawled out from behind the crane, her knees scraping against the rough wood. She kept low, her eyes fixed on that small amber bottle.
She reached Chloe's body. Her fingers touched the cold glass, prying it from Chloe's stiffening grip.
"Looking for this, sweetheart?"
A hand grabbed Elara's hair, yanking her head back with agonizing force.
She looked up into the cold, dead eyes of Richard Sterling. He wasn't wearing a cardigan now. He was wearing a tactical vest, a suppressed pistol held loosely in his right hand.
"You always were the difficult one, Elara," Richard whispered, pressing the cold barrel of the gun against her temple. "Your mother took three days to die. I think I'll make you take a lot longer."