The plan was simple. Too simple for Vivian's liking.
They would wait until midnight, when the Sterling Group tower was empty except for the skeleton security crew. Lucian still had his access codes—Derek hadn't managed to revoke them yet. Karen had coughed up the safe combination and the camera blind spots.
"If Derek finds out we're coming, we're dead," Vivian said.
"He won't." Lucian checked his watch. "He's schmoozing at a Hamptons fundraiser with two hundred people. He won't leave until morning."
"And Karen?"
"At her apartment. I've got a guy watching the place."
"You don't trust her."
"I don't trust anyone." His eyes met hers. "Except you."
Something twisted in Vivian's chest. "That's a mistake."
"Probably." The ghost of a smile touched his mouth. "But it's my mistake to make."
They left the cabin at ten.
Lucian drove a dark sedan borrowed from a friend, something untraceable. Vivian sat beside him, her father's USB drive a hard rectangle in her pocket, her fingers curled around the grip of the gun he'd handed her.
"You can stay in the car," he said, not looking at her.
"No, I can't."
"If this goes south—"
"Then it goes south for both of us." Her voice left no room for argument. "I'm not waiting out here."
He shot her a look. "Stubborn."
"You're only noticing now?"
The Sterling Group tower cut a sharp, dark shape against the city glow, only a handful of windows lit on the security floors. Lucian parked in a garage two blocks over.
They finished the approach on foot, sticking to the pools of shadow between streetlights.
The employee entrance was a nondescript side door needing a badge and pin. Lucian swiped his card. The light blinked green.
"He really didn't kill your access," Vivian breathed.
"Derek can't deactivate it without telling security why. Admitting I'm a problem." Lucian pushed the door inward, a faint metallic creak breaking the quiet. "He's arrogant. We can use that.
The stairwell was dark and cold.
They climbed twelve flights without speaking, footsteps echoing off concrete. Vivian's legs burned. Her lungs ached. She didn't stop.
Lucian stopped at the door marked *48*.
"From here, we have three minutes," he said. "Get in, open the safe, get out. That's the security rotation for this floor."
"What if we're not out?"
"Then we hide. Wait for the next pass." He glanced at her. "Ready?"
"No."
"Good." He pushed the door open. "Move."
The forty-eighth floor was dark.
City light bled through the glass walls, stretching shadows across empty desks. Vivian followed Lucian through the cubicle maze, her heart hammering hard enough to feel in her throat.
Derek's office waited at the hall's end.
The door was locked.
Lucian pulled out a small device—Karen's electronic lock pick. He pressed it to the keypad. A green flash.
"She came through," Vivian whispered.
"Don't trust her yet."
The door swung inward.
The office felt bigger than she remembered.
Floor-to-ceiling windows. A desk like a boat. Bookshelves crammed with leather-bound books that looked untouched.
And on the wall, a painting.
A man in a dark suit stood before a fireplace, face stern, eyes cold. Derek's father. Founder of Sterling Group.
"Safe's behind it," Lucian said.
He lifted the painting from the wall.
Behind it sat a metal door, flush with the plaster. No handle. Just a keypad.
Lucian keyed in the combination Karen gave them—Derek's birthday, backwards.
The door clicked open.
The compartment inside was about the size of a shoebox.
A stack of passports. Bundles of cash. A leather-bound notebook.
And one photograph.
Lucian pulled the notebook out and flipped it open. The color drained from his face.
"What?" Vivian asked.
"It's a ledger. Every bribe. Every payoff. Every murder-for-hire." He looked up, his eyes dark. "He's been keeping track. For thirty years."
"That's enough to put him away forever."
"Try several lifetimes." He shoved the notebook inside his jacket. "Take the passports and the cash. We need to make it look like he's planning to run."
Vivian scooped up the passports. American, British, Swiss. A dozen different names, all staring back with Derek's face.
"He was ready for this," she said.
"He's been ready for thirty years." Lucian held up the photograph. "Look."
The photo showed two men with their arms around each other, smiling. One was a younger Derek, his hair still dark, his face smooth. The other was a stranger to Vivian.
"Who is that?"
"His brother. My grandfather's other son." Lucian's voice went thin and tight. "He died in a boating accident fifty years ago. Supposedly."
"You think Derek killed him?"
"I think Derek kills people who get in his way. I think he's been doing it a long, long time." He pocketed the photograph. "And I think this proves it."
The elevator chimed.
Vivian's breath caught.
"That's not the rotation," Lucian said. "Rotation uses the stairs."
He grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward the door. "Go. Now."
They ran.
Down the hall, past silent cubicles, toward the stairwell door. Behind them, the elevator doors hissed open.
"Don't look back," Lucian whispered.
She didn't.
They slammed through the stairwell door just as the elevator finished its chime.
They took the stairs twelve flights down, a blur of concrete and railings that left Vivian's lungs scorched, her legs dead weight.
Lucian shoved the ground floor door open and yanked her into the alley's damp air.
"The car," he gasped. "Two blocks."
They ran.
No footsteps behind them. No sirens splitting the night. Just their own ragged breath.
When they reached the sedan, Vivian was doubled over, wheezing.
"Did anyone see us?"
"I don't think so." The engine coughed to life. "But the cabin's burned. Derek will know we were there. He'll have the cameras."
"So where?"
"My place. He won't expect that."
"He'll have it watched."
"He will." A grim smile flashed in the dark. "But I know a way in he doesn't."
The apartment building loomed, most of its windows dark.
Lucian didn't use the garage. He parked on a shadowed side street and led her to a rusted service door, down a crumbling staircase, into a narrow tunnel that smelled of wet earth and old pipes.
"My father had this dug out," Lucian said, his voice echoing slightly. "A bolt-hole. In case he ever needed to run from Derek." He shoved a heavy door at the tunnel's end. "He always knew it would come to this."
Beyond it was a private elevator. Lucian hit the button for the top floor.
The apartment was dark, cold. A single lamp bloomed when he clicked it on, throwing long shadows. He set the battered notebook on the coffee table. Vivian sank into the couch, her hands trembling in her lap.
"We did it," she breathed.
"Half of it." He dropped down beside her, the cushions dipping. "Now we get this to the FBI. To someone clean."
"Is there anyone?"
"One. An agent Derek never got to. I've been keeping her in reserve for this." He pulled out his phone, stared at the black screen. "I'll call at first light."
"And tonight?"
"Tonight we stop. Breathe." He looked at her, really looked. "You should sleep."
"I'm not tired."
"Vivian. You just broke into a fortress, robbed a safe, and outran a police response. You're allowed to be wrecked."
"So are you."
"I'll sleep when he's in a cell."
She studied him then—the bruised hollows under his eyes, the tight line of his jaw, the way he held himself like a spring coiled too long.
"You can't save everyone, Lucian."
"I know."
"You can't shield me from all of this."
"I know that, too." His hand found hers, his grip warm and solid. "But let me try."
She let her fingers lace with his.
They sat in the quiet, the city a spread of glittering jewels beyond the glass, the notebook—a ledger of every rotten deed—waiting between them.
"Lucian?"
"Yeah?"
"What happens after? After Derek falls. After the trial. After… all this?"
He was silent for a long moment. The refrigerator hummed in the next room.
"I don't know," he said finally.
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only true one I have." He turned to her, his expression raw in the low light. "I've spent five years living in this moment. I never let myself think past it."
"Neither did I."
"Then we'll figure it out," he said. "Together."
She let her head rest against his shoulder, the wool of his coat rough against her cheek. His breathing slowed, matching hers.
"Together," she whispered.
End of Chapter Twelve