Chapter Fifty-Nine: The Golden Finger

Twenty-Four Hours Earlier

The alarms shattered our almost-kiss like a gunshot through glass.

For a split second, Dominic's face showed pure fury—not at being caught, but at being interrupted. Then his expression shifted into something I'd never seen before: calculating, predatory, absolutely in control.

"Damn it," he said, but his voice was too calm for someone who was supposedly trapped.

While I was still reeling from the sudden noise, he moved with lightning speed to Victoria's desk. His hands swept across the surface, gathering random files, business correspondence, anything with official letterhead.

"What are you doing?" I asked, watching him work with surgical precision.

"Insurance," he said, sliding the papers from inside the manila envelope and replacing them with the desk files. The real documents—my DNA results, birth certificates, adoption records—disappeared into his jacket with practiced ease.

"Take this," he said, handing me the envelope that now contained nothing but Victoria's business papers. "When we run, hold onto it like your life depends on it."

"But that's not—"

"Trust me." His eyes locked with mine, intense and absolute. "No matter what happens, no matter what you see, trust me."

I nodded, though I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. My brain was still fuzzy from almost being kissed and the adrenaline of the alarms.

"Good girl," he said, and then we were moving.

The hallway outside the study was chaos—red lights flashing, sirens wailing, but no security yet. We had maybe ninety seconds before the building locked down completely.

"This way," Dominic said, guiding me toward the service elevator with one hand while pulling out his phone with the other.

"Jules, we've got problems," he said into the phone as we reached the elevator.

But I caught something strange. The way he said it wasn't panicked. It was... coded. Like he was giving instructions rather than asking for help.

"Security's mobilizing," Jules's voice crackled back. "You've got maybe two minutes before this place is crawling with guards."

"The service elevator?"

"Blocked. They've shut down all elevator access to the top floor."

"Stairs?"

"Also blocked. You're trapped."

But Dominic was smiling. Actually smiling.

"There has to be another way out," I said, following the script I didn't know I was reading.

"There is," Dominic said. "But you're not going to like it."

We made our way to the maintenance access, and I played my part perfectly—terrified, clutching the envelope, following his lead. But something nagged at me. Why wasn't he more worried? Why did every move feel choreographed?

It wasn't until we were in the service tunnels that I began to understand.

"Down," Dominic said, but as we descended, I heard him speaking quietly into his earpiece. Not to Jules this time. To someone else.

"Positions," he said. "Remember, you're panicked thieves who got caught. Resist just enough to look real, then let them take you. Legal will have you out in six hours."

My blood went cold. "Dominic?"

"Keep moving," he said. "Trust the plan."

We reached the bottom level, and I could hear boots thundering down the stairwell behind us. But Dominic moved with the confidence of someone who knew exactly what was going to happen next.

"This way," he said, leading me to the grate that he kicked open with just enough effort to look desperate but not enough to actually strain himself.

I crawled through first, still clutching the envelope, still playing the terrified wife. But my mind was racing now, putting pieces together.

The way he'd switched the documents.

The coded phone calls.

The perfect timing of everything.

"Which way?" I asked when we reached the larger tunnel.

"East," he said. "Toward the river. Jules can pick us up at the access point near—"

"Stop right there!"

The voice boomed through the tunnel, and flashlight beams cut through the darkness. But when I looked back, the people shouting weren't the building security I expected.

They were strangers. A blonde woman about my height and build, wearing clothes identical to mine. A man roughly Dominic's size, dressed in the same dark outfit.

His body doubles.

"You are trespassing on private property," the megaphone voice continued, but it was directed at them, not us. "Put your hands up and surrender the stolen documents."

"Run," Dominic said to me, but he wasn't running. He was walking calmly toward the decoys.

I ran anyway, because that was the plan. Even though I didn't fully understand it yet, I ran down that tunnel clutching an envelope full of meaningless business papers while the real proof of my identity stayed safe in Dominic's jacket.

Behind me, I could hear him talking to the woman. "Remember, you're desperate. You got caught breaking into the penthouse for money, nothing more. The documents are just random papers you grabbed. Play up the fear."

"Got it, boss," she said, her voice shaky with manufactured terror.

"And Marcus," Dominic continued, "when the dogs get here, drop everything and run. Let them catch you two blocks away. Make it look good, but don't actually resist arrest."

"Understood."

Then I heard the barking, right on schedule. The dogs that were supposed to be chasing us were actually chasing his employees, who would lead them on exactly the right kind of chase to make the whole thing look authentic.

I kept running, playing my part, until I reached the ladder. That's when I let myself fumble with the envelope, let it tear, let the fake papers scatter like I was truly desperate and clumsy.

Because even without understanding the full plan, I trusted him completely.

The papers that fell weren't my DNA results or birth certificates. They were Victoria's quarterly reports and board meeting minutes. Valuable to her business, maybe, but completely useless for proving my identity.

I climbed that ladder anyway, gasping and crying and looking exactly like a woman who'd just lost everything. Because somewhere behind me in the darkness, Dominic Blackwood was orchestrating the most beautiful con I'd ever seen.

By the time I reached street level, he was already there waiting for me.

"How?" I gasped.

"There's another exit fifty yards back," he said calmly. "I've had the building's schematics for weeks."

"The documents—"

He patted his jacket. "Safe and sound."

"The people who got caught?"

"Will be charged with trespassing and petty theft. I'll have them released by morning." His smile was sharp enough to cut glass. "The security footage will show two thieves who broke in and stole worthless papers. Nothing that connects to you, nothing that proves anything except that building security needs to be upgraded."

I stared at him, finally understanding the full scope of what he'd done.

"How long have you been planning this?"

"Since the moment you told me about the Van Alston inheritance." He pulled me against him, his arms warm and solid and absolutely unshakeable. "I knew there would be traps. I knew someone would try to use your methods against you. So I made sure that when they did, we'd be ready."

"The blonde woman—"

"Sarah Mitchell. Former actress, now works private security. She's very good at playing roles." He smoothed my hair back from my face. "She'll stick to the story. Desperate thief who got caught, nothing more."

"And if they don't believe her?"

"They will. Because that's exactly what the evidence will show."

Present Day - The Boardroom

"The woman in the footage," Richard was saying, "she's blonde. Mrs. Blackwood has dark hair."

I watched Maeve's face crumble as her perfect trap revealed itself to be exactly what Dominic had intended—proof that someone else entirely had broken into the penthouse.

The security guards brought in Sarah Mitchell, still in handcuffs, still playing her role perfectly.

"Ma'am," one of them said, "we caught this woman trying to break into the building's security office. She was attempting to alter the timestamp on some surveillance footage."

Sarah looked up, her face the picture of desperate guilt. "I wasn't trying to change anything important," she said, her voice shaking. "I just... I needed to make it look like we broke in later, so the night security wouldn't get fired for missing us."

It was brilliant. Even her "confession" supported the story that she was just a petty thief with a conscience.

Maeve was staring at her like she'd seen a ghost. "But the documents—"

"Were never stolen," I said calmly. "These documents were given to me legally by Victoria Van Alston, who had every right to share her own medical records and family history."

"But I saw the footage—"

"You saw footage of someone else breaking into your sister's penthouse and stealing random papers from her desk," Dominic said. "Tragic, certainly. But completely unrelated to my wife's legitimate claim to the Van Alston inheritance."

The board members were nodding now, understanding dawning on their faces.

Maeve had tried to trap us with our own crime, only to discover that the crime had been committed by someone else entirely.

And the proof she'd demanded?

We'd had it all along.

I looked around the table at twelve faces that had gone from contempt to confusion to grudging respect.

"Now," I said, spreading the documents across the marble surface, "shall we discuss my inheritance?"

Dominic's hand found mine under the table, his thumb tracing small circles on my palm.

Checkmate.