Geneva

*Chapter 8

The jet hit turbulence over the Alps and Jennifer’s stomach dropped with it.

She hadn’t slept in 36 hours. The USB drive felt hot in her pocket, like it was burning through the fabric to remind her what was inside. David sat across from her, jacket off, sleeves rolled up, staring at the encrypted tablet on his lap. He hadn’t spoken since they left the safe house.

“David,” she said finally.

He looked up. “Not now.”

“When, then?”

“When we’re not 30,000 feet up with a compromised flight plan.”

Jennifer leaned back, closing her eyes. The last message still burned behind her eyelids: _It’s over, Jennifer._

It wasn’t over. Not while she was breathing.

Two hours later, the jet touched down at Geneva’s private terminal. Rain slicked the tarmac, and two armored SUVs waited under the floodlights.

David’s head of security, Marcus, opened the door.

“Perimeter’s clean,” Marcus said. “But we’ve got chatter. Argent’s people landed an hour ago.”

David helped Jennifer out into the rain. “We don’t stop moving.”

The safe house in Geneva was different from the one outside London. Smaller. Older. Built into the side of a mountain. No windows on the lower floor, one road in and out.

David led her straight to the basement.

“International Court of Arbitration is three blocks from here,” he said, setting the laptop on a steel table. “If we file the evidence there, Argent can’t bury it.”

Jennifer nodded, but her eyes were on the monitors. One feed showed the road. Another showed the front gate.

“Why are we hiding?” she asked. “We have the proof.”

“Because proof doesn’t matter if you’re dead,” David said. “And right now, someone wants you dead before that filing goes through.”

Jennifer’s phone buzzed.

She expected another threat.

Instead, it was a text from an unknown number:

_Meet me. Alone. Hotel Beau-Rivage. Room 1204. Midnight. Come alone or he dies._

Attached was a photo.

David, in a holding cell. Blood on his lip.

Jennifer’s heart stopped.

“David,” she said, voice shaking. “They have you.”

David took the phone. His face went still when he saw the photo.

“It’s not me,” he said. “Look at the timestamp. That was taken three hours ago. I was on the jet.”

Jennifer exhaled, but it didn’t help.

“Then who?”

“Someone who wants you to walk into a trap,” David said. He handed the phone back. “We’re not going.”

Jennifer shook her head. “If there’s a chance it’s you—”

“There isn’t,” David said firmly. “And even if there was, walking in alone is exactly what they want.”

Jennifer stared at the photo. The man’s face was bruised, but the eyes were wrong. Too old.

“You’re right,” she said quietly. “It’s not you.”

David studied her. “What are you thinking?”

“That they know I’d come,” Jennifer said. “Which means they know about Clause 7.”

David’s jaw tightened. “How?”

“I don’t know,” Jennifer said. “But if they know, they know I have a weakness. They’ll use it.”

David stepped closer. “You don’t have a weakness, Jennifer. You have leverage. And leverage works both ways.”

Jennifer looked up at him. “What do you mean?”

David’s voice dropped. “If they think I’m your weakness, then you become mine.”

Jennifer’s breath caught.

Before she could answer, Marcus burst into the room.

“They’re here,” he said. “Two vehicles, no plates. Coming up the road fast.”

David grabbed the laptop and the USB.

“Move,” he said.

They took the service tunnel behind the basement. Cold, wet concrete, water dripping from the ceiling.

Halfway through, the lights died.

“Backup generator’s down,” Marcus muttered. “They cut power.”

Gunfire echoed from the main entrance.

Jennifer’s pulse roared in her ears.

David pulled her behind him, gun out.

“Stay low,” he said.

They reached the emergency exit. David keyed in the code. Nothing.

“Jammed,” Marcus said.

Footsteps echoed behind them. Multiple people. Moving fast.

David turned Jennifer to face him.

“If I don’t make it out of this,” he said, “you take the USB and you run. Don’t stop. Don’t look back.”

Jennifer grabbed his wrist. “Don’t say that.”

David’s eyes were steady. “I mean it. Clause 7 doesn’t matter if you’re dead.”

Before Jennifer could respond, the tunnel door behind them burst open.

Three men in tactical gear poured in, guns raised.

“On the ground!” one shouted.

David stepped in front of Jennifer.

“Don’t shoot!” he said. “She’s a civilian!”

The lead man hesitated for half a second.

That was enough.

David moved. Fast.

Gunfire cracked.

Jennifer hit the ground, covering her head.

When she looked up, two of the men were down. The third had David pinned against the wall, gun pressed to his temple.

“Drop it, Loriss,” the man snarled.

David didn’t move.

Jennifer saw it then—the small device clipped to the man’s vest. A detonator.

“He’s wired,” David said quietly, not looking at her. “Run, Jennifer. Now.”

Jennifer stood up slowly, hands raised.

“You don’t have to do this,” she said to the man. “Put the gun down.”

The man smiled. “Too late. Orders are to make sure neither of you leave Geneva.”

Jennifer’s eyes flicked to David.

He gave her the smallest nod.

_Now._

Jennifer lunged forward, grabbing the man’s wrist and twisting.

The gun went off.

The bullet hit the ceiling.

David drove his elbow into the man’s ribs, knocking the air out of him. The detonator clattered to the ground.

Jennifer kicked it away.

The man went for his knife.

David hit him once, hard, and he went limp.

Silence fell.

Jennifer was breathing hard, hands shaking.

David pulled her into him, checking her for injuries.

“You’re okay,” he said. “You’re okay.”

Jennifer nodded, unable to speak.

Above them, the sound of more footsteps.

“More coming,” Marcus said, appearing from the shadows. “We need to move.”

David grabbed the USB from Jennifer’s pocket and tucked it into his jacket.

“We’re going through the water line,” he said. “It comes out at the lake.”

Jennifer followed him into the darkness, the cold water rising to her ankles.

Halfway through, her phone buzzed again.

She almost ignored it.

Then she saw the name.

*Ravenna Benz.*

Jennifer stopped walking.

“Jennifer?” David said.

She opened the message.

It was a video.

She hit play.

Ravenna’s face filled the screen, smiling.

“Hello, niece,” she said. “I hope you’re enjoying Geneva. Because it’s the last place you’ll see.”

Jennifer felt the blood drain from her face.

Ravenna continued, “I have your mother’s necklace. The one you think was lost in the fire. Would you like it back?”

The video cut to a close-up.

Jennifer’s mother’s necklace. Sapphire and silver. Resting on a table.

Behind it, a man tied to a chair. Gag in his mouth. Eyes wide with fear.

David.

Jennifer’s hands trembled so badly she almost dropped the phone.

“Ravenna,” she whispered.

David took the phone from her. He watched the video, his face going cold.

“Where is she?” he asked Marcus.

Marcus shook his head. “No signal trace. It was routed through six servers.”

Jennifer grabbed David’s arm.

“She has you,” she said. “She’s going to kill you.”

David set the phone down.

“No,” he said. “She’s going to try.”

Jennifer stared at him.

“What do we do?” she asked.

David picked up the USB and held it out to her.

“You finish this,” he said. “You file the evidence. You end Argent Holdings. And you make sure Ravenna never touches another Benz again.”

Jennifer shook her head. “I’m not leaving you.”

“You are,” David said firmly. “Because if you don’t, Clause 7 won’t matter. There won’t be an ‘us’ left to fight for.”

Jennifer looked at him, really looked at him. The cut on his eyebrow, the exhaustion in his eyes, the way he stood between her and danger without hesitation.

She wanted to argue.

But she knew he was right.

Jennifer took the USB.

“Don’t die,” she said.

David’s mouth curved, faint but real.

“Not planning on it,” he said.

Marcus opened a side hatch. Cold lake water rushed in.

“Go,” David said.

Jennifer hesitated one last second.

Then she slipped into the water and swam.

Behind her, she heard David say, “Marcus. Hold the line.”

The hatch closed with a heavy clang.

Jennifer surfaced in the dark lake, gasping.

On the shore, lights flashed. Shouting.

She didn’t look back.

She ran.