Chapter 1075
Under the coffee cup was a piece of paper—a takeout menu for a Thai place down the street. She picked it up. On the back, scrawled in Lucian’s precise, architectural handwriting, was a string of numbers and letters.
O-P-SEC-4-4-9.
“Alistair,” Skye called out.
He emerged from the study. “Laptop is gone. Hard drives pulled. They knew exactly what he was carrying.”
She handed him the menu. “What is this?”
Alistair’s eyes narrowed. He took the paper, his thumb brushing over the ink. “It’s not a takeout order. It’s Oracle Protocol. Section 449.”
He looked at her, his expression darkening. “Voluntary Surrender for Asset Protection.”
Skye’s breath hitched. “He gave himself up? To protect the drive?”
“Or to protect us,” Alistair said, crushing the paper in his fist. “If he triggered a Section 449, it means he hid the asset and offered himself as the distraction.”
“Felix,” Alistair tapped his earpiece. “Tell me you have the building’s security feed.”
“I’m in,” Felix’s voice crackled. “Sending it to the living room TV now.”
The large screen on the wall flickered to life. The grainy black-and-white footage showed the hallway. Timestamp: 07:30 AM.
Lucian walked out. He wasn’t bound. There was no visible gun to his head, but he was flanked by two men in dark suits who walked just a little too close to be friends. They were big, professional. Military bearing.
Lucian stopped at the elevator. He looked directly up at the security camera.
“Watch his hand,” Skye whispered, stepping closer to the screen.
Lucian’s right hand hung at his side. His index finger was tapping against his thigh.
Tap. Tap-tap. Tap.
Long. Short-short. Long.
“He’s sending a message,” Skye said, her heart hammering against her ribs. “He knew they’d hack the feed.”
Alistair leaned in, his eyes tracking the rhythm. “It’s not just a twitch. It’s Morse.”
The apartment felt suffocating, the air thick with the phantom presence of the man who wasn’t there. They stood around the television, the glow of the screen illuminating their anxious faces.
“Play it again, Felix,” Alistair commanded into his comms.
The video looped. Lucian’s finger tapped against his dark trousers—the rhythm frantic but precise. A desperate telegraph from a man walking into the dark.
Dot-dash-dot-dot. Dot. Dot.
“L,” Alistair translated, his voice rough. “E. E.”
He straightened, his jaw clenching so hard Skye saw the muscle feather. “Lee.”
Skye looked at him. “Secretary Lee? From Kensington Global? I thought he disappeared after Bastian’s fall.”
“Rats survive the plague,” Alistair spat. “He must have been recruited by Harper Cole. If Lucian is signaling his name, it means Lee is the broker. He’s the one moving him.”
“Felix,” Skye said. “Find Secretary Lee. Now.”
“Way ahead of you, boss,” Felix replied, the sound of rapid typing filling the line. “Facial rec picked him up on a traffic cam twenty minutes ago. He’s stationary—a warehouse in Queens. It’s listed under a shell company owned by a subsidiary of a holdings firm linked to the Mayor’s office.”
“Harper Cole’s political cover,” Alistair said, turning toward the door. “I’m going to peel Lee’s skin off until he tells me where Lucian is.”
“No,” Skye said.