Chapter Forty-Two: The Threat

Felix found me in the conference room at six in the morning.

I hadn't slept. I'd been reviewing documents since three. The photographs from the warehouse were spread across the table. Timestamps. Locations. Faces I didn't recognize.

He set a coffee in front of me. He didn't sit.

"What?" I asked.

He handed me his phone. A message from Sloane.

Package delivered to the penthouse this morning. No return address. No stamp. Security scanned it. It's clean. But you need to see it.

I stood. I didn't drink the coffee.

---

The package was waiting for me in Adrian's office.

A small box. White paper. No markings.

Adrian was already there. He hadn't opened it. He was waiting for me.

"Together," he said.

I nodded. I opened it.

Inside was a photograph. My mother's grave. The headstone. The flowers I'd left there three weeks ago. Wilted. Dead.

On the back, in handwriting I didn't recognize: You should have stayed quiet.

I set the photograph down. My hands were steady.

"Julian," Adrian said.

"Or someone working for him."

"Or Volkov's people."

"Or Henry."

Adrian picked up the photograph. He studied it. He set it down.

"Sloane is tracing the delivery. She'll find whoever sent it."

"She won't. Whoever did this knew what they were doing."

He didn't argue. He just looked at me.

"I want to go to the cemetery," I said.

"Now?"

"Now."

He didn't stop me. He just nodded.

---

The cemetery was empty.

Sloane parked at the gate. She stayed in the car.

I walked to my mother's grave alone.

The flowers were still there. Wilting. Someone had moved them. Someone had stood here. Someone had taken that photograph.

I knelt in the grass. I touched the headstone. Her name. Her dates. The words I'd chosen when I was seventeen.

Beloved mother. Taken too soon.

I didn't cry. I didn't speak. I just knelt in the grass and thought about her.

She was going to expose Henry. She was going to win. And then she died.

I was not going to die. I was going to win.

I stood. I brushed the grass off my knees. I walked back to the car.

Sloane didn't ask how it went.

---

That afternoon, I met with Felix.

He had more information about the warehouse. Julian had been there again. The night before. He'd stayed for two hours. He'd left with a folder.

"What was in the folder?"

"We don't know. But we're working on it."

"Work faster."

He nodded. He didn't argue.

I stood. I walked to the window.

"We're running out of time," I said.

"I know."

"Julian is planning something. Something big. Something we won't see coming."

"We'll be ready."

"Will we?"

He didn't answer. He didn't need to.

---

That evening, I found Daniel in the living room.

He was sitting on the couch. He was staring at the television. It wasn't on.

"You okay?" I asked.

He looked up. He looked tired.

"No."

I sat beside him.

"I keep thinking about him," he said. "Dad. The way he left. The way he didn't even say goodbye."

I didn't respond. I just waited.

"I was twelve. I didn't understand. I thought it was my fault. I thought I did something wrong."

"It wasn't your fault."

"I know. But I still thought it."

I looked at him. He looked at me.

"We're not going to let him ruin this," I said. "We're not going to let him take anything else from us."

Daniel nodded. He didn't look convinced. But he nodded.

"What do we do now?" he asked.

"We finish this. We take down Henry. We take down Julian. And then we figure out the rest."

"And Dad?"

I was quiet for a moment. Then I said, "He's not part of the plan. Not unless he wants to be."

Daniel looked at me. He looked at me the way he used to when we were children. Like I was someone he could trust.

"Okay," he said.

I stood. I walked to the door.

"Elena."

I stopped.

"Thank you. For not giving up."

I turned. I looked at him.

"I'm not giving up," I said. "I'm just getting started."

---

That night, I sat in my room.

I didn't sleep. I didn't try to. I just sat on the edge of the bed and stared at the wall.

The photograph was in my desk drawer. I could still see it. My mother's grave. The wilted flowers. The message.

You should have stayed quiet.

I didn't stay quiet. I wasn't going to.

I stood. I walked to my desk. I opened the drawer. I looked at the photograph.

Then I closed it. I walked to the window. I looked at the city.

Two days. Then we go public. Then everything changes.

I was ready.