Chapter 1098
“I thought it would make a good emergency fund,” Conrad shrugged. “Gold is always a safe bet, right?”
Skye started laughing. She couldn’t help it. It came out half-hysterical. The fate of the city, billions of dollars, the entire conspiracy — all of it resting inside Conrad Hayes’s shoe.
“Victor has the lens,” Skye said, taking the gold setting in her hand. “But we have the cipher.”
Alistair’s phone rang. Unknown number.
He put it on speaker.
“You have something of mine.” Victor’s voice was cold, stripped of its earlier mockery.
“And you have a very expensive piece of red glass,” Alistair replied smoothly. “Did you try to scan it? Did you get an error message?”
Silence on the line. They had guessed right. Without the setting to align the laser, the gem was useless.
“We want to trade,” Victor said.
“No trades,” Skye said, leaning toward the phone. “We have the key. You have nothing.”
“I have a drone pointed at the ventilation shaft of your bunker,” Victor said. “I’m three miles out. You have ten minutes to bring me the gold setting, or I flood your air supply with nerve gas.”
They looked at one another. He had tracked them.
“Stalemate,” Victor growled.
“Negotiation,” Skye corrected. “Come to the surface entrance. Alone. Unarmed. We’ll talk.”
“You need another day,” Alistair said quietly, watching her sway.
“I need to end this,” Skye replied. She gripped the edge of the table, steadied herself, and stood up straight. The dizziness didn’t leave, but she buried it. “One more night. Then I’ll sleep for a week.”
In the Alps, Ethan watched Julian finish his second coughing fit of the hour. The handkerchief came away soaked.
“You should rest,” Ethan said.
Julian wiped his lips. “After tonight. I want to see her win.”
The following night, Skye walked into the ballroom wearing a dress the color of fresh blood. She had used every trick available — compression stockings, caffeine, and a shot of B12 that Felix had procured from a black-market pharmacy — to stay upright. Alistair was at her side, his hand positioned to catch her if she fell.
The rain had stopped, leaving the concrete lot slick and black. Victor came through the gates with his hands raised. He looked furious.
They met him on the front steps of the decoy warehouse. Alistair positioned himself in front of Skye, his body a shield. Victoria stood at Skye’s side, arms crossed.
“Give me the setting,” Victor demanded.
“Give me the evidence,” Skye countered.
Victor paused. “What evidence?”
“Marcus Cain pulled the strings that killed my father,” Skye said, her voice steady. “He didn’t just watch him fall — he pushed him. I want the original files. The raw data you stole from Harper Cole’s private server before he went underground. I know you have it, Victor. You’re an insurance man at heart.”
Victor laughed — a sharp, barking sound. “You want to trade a billion dollars for a hard drive? You’re sentimental, Skye. That’s why you’ll lose.”