Chapter 11

Liam's POV

​The wood in the fireplace is real cherry. It’s expensive. It burns too fast.

​I sat in the armchair in the back of the Sterling library. My shoulder was a mess. The bandage was leaking. A small, dark bloom on the white gauze. I didn't change it. The pain kept the room focused.

​Felix stood by the window. He was checking his watch every thirty seconds. He was vibrating.

​"The press is at the gates, Liam," Felix said. "Three networks. The New York Times. They want a quote about the lighthouse."

​"No."

​"They're saying you kidnapped her. Again. They're saying the fire was an attempt to cover the tracks."

​"Let them."

​I looked at the piece of wood on the table. The charred block Isabella had thrown to me. It sat next to a glass of scotch I hadn't touched.

​It was a piece of oak. Burnt on one side. Rough. Heavy. It wasn't a jewel. It was a lie.

​I picked it up. My thumb brushed the soot.

​"Liam, the board is in the conference room," Felix said. "They’ve been waiting an hour. They saw the footage of you landing at the hospital. They saw the blood."

​"The hospital was a mistake," I said.

​"You were bleeding out. It wasn't a mistake, it was—"

​"It was a breach of protocol," I interrupted.

​I stood up. My vision swam for a second. The floor tilted. I gripped the edge of the desk.

​Leverage. That’s all the world is. Who has the most weight on the end of the bar.

​Right now, Arthur Vane had the weight. He had the daughter. He had the stone.

​I had a piece of charcoal.

​"Tell the board I’m coming," I said. "And Felix."

​"Yeah?"

​"Tell the security team to sweep the island again. Everything. Every rock. If she dropped a gum wrapper, I want it."

​"She’s in the city, Liam. We saw the chopper land on Vane Tower."

​I didn't answer. I couldn't.

​If I thought about her in that building, the pain in my shoulder would move to my throat.

​Interrupt the thought. Kill it.

​"Conference room," I said.

​The board of Sterling Tech is a collection of grey hair and high-yield expectations.

​Twelve men. Two women. They sat around a table made of polished mahogany. They looked at me like I was a faulty line of code.

​I sat at the head. I didn't lean back. The bandage was pulling.

​"Mr. Sterling," Henderson said. He’s the lead shareholder. He owns 8%. He’s a man who measures life in basis points. "We’ve seen the news."

​"The news is fiction," I said.

​"You were on a private island. There was an explosion. Isabella Vane is back with her father. And you have a gunshot wound."

​"A hunting accident," I said.

​"In the middle of a gale? On a rock in Maine?"

​"The deer are hearty up there."

​Silence.

​Henderson leaned forward. He smelled like peppermint and desperation.

​"The Vane merger is a carcass, Liam. The stock dropped fifteen percent this morning. The SEC is asking questions about 'Bella Smith.' They want to know why a Vane heiress was on our payroll."

​"She was an intern. She was qualified."

​"She was a liability."

​I looked at the table. I saw the grain of the wood. It was a closed loop.

​"The merger is suspended," I said. "Not cancelled."

​"Arthur Vane is claiming kidnapping," a woman named Sarah said. She sits on the audit committee. "He’s filing a civil suit. He wants five hundred million in damages for 'emotional distress' and 'corporate interference.'"

​"He signed the immunity," I said.

​"His lawyers are saying the signature was obtained under duress. During a fire. While his daughter was held at gunpoint."

​I felt the heat under my collar.

​I saw Isabella standing on the ledge. I saw her holding the gun.

​She looked at me. She said—

​Stop.

​"The signature stands," I said. "I have the digital timestamp. I have the metadata."

​"It doesn't matter," Henderson snapped. "The market hates a scandal. They want a statement. They want you to denounce the Vanes. They want you to tell the world that Isabella Vane is a manipulator who infiltrated this company."

​"No."

​"Liam, if you don't condemn her, you look like a co-conspirator."

​"I am not making a statement."

​"Why not?"

​"Because it’s not strategic," I said.

​"It’s not strategic?" Henderson laughed. It was a short, ugly sound. "It’s the only move we have. We distance ourselves from the girl. We pivot back to the core tech. We let the Vanes burn in their own mess."

​"The 'girl' is the key to the Medusa core," I said. My voice was too low. Too hard.

​"The core is a myth," Sarah said. "It hasn't been verified. Without the sapphire, it’s just a pile of encrypted junk."

​I thought about the piece of wood in my library.

​I thought about the way Isabella looked at the helicopter.

​She wasn't a prisoner. She was a Trojan horse.

​"The core is real," I said.

​"Prove it."

​"I don't have to prove anything to this board. I built this company. I am the majority shareholder."

​"For now," Henderson said.

​The room went cold.

​I looked at Henderson. He wasn't looking at my face. He was looking at the door.

​"The stock is at its lowest point in three years," Henderson said. "The institutional investors are nervous. They don't like a CEO who goes missing on weekends to chase heiresses. They like stability. They like dividends."

​"I am the stability," I said.

​"You’re a distraction, Liam."

​Henderson pulled a folder from his bag. He slid it across the table.

​"This is a formal petition," he said. "Signed by 42% of the voting power."

​I didn't open it. I knew what it was.

​"You’re calling for a vote," I said.

​"A vote of no confidence," Henderson corrected. "The meeting is scheduled for Friday. 9:00 AM."

​"You can't win that vote, Henderson. My mother still holds—"

​"Your mother is a ghost, Liam. She hasn't been seen in fifteen years. The board has a right to question her mental capacity to hold voting rights. We’ve already filed the motion."

​I felt the blood in my ears.

​They were going after Catherine.

​"You touch my mother," I said, "and I’ll liquidate this company before you can get to the parking lot."

​"Liquidate it then," Henderson said. He stood up. "At least we’d get the par value. Right now, we’re watching you burn it for a girl who doesn't even want you."

​They all stood.

​One by one, they walked out.

​The room was empty. The silence was heavy.

​I sat there for a long time.

​I looked at my hand. It was shaking.

​I gripped the edge of the mahogany table. I squeezed until my knuckles turned white.

​I wasn't thinking about the vote.

​I was thinking about the lighthouse.

​I was thinking about the way Isabella’s hair smelled like salt.

​I was thinking about the way she looked when she climbed that ladder.

​She didn't look back.

​She didn't even say goodbye.

​She just—

​I hit the table with my good hand. The sound was like a gunshot.

​"Felix!" I yelled.

​Felix came in. He looked like he’d been listening at the door.

​"Get the car," I said.

​"Where are we going?"

​"The Vane Tower."

​"Liam, you can't. There’s a restraining order. There’s a lawsuit."

​"I don't care."

​"What are you going to do?"

​I stood up. My shoulder screamed. I ignored it.

​"I’m going to find out if she’s a partner," I said. "Or if I’m the only one left in the fire."

​I walked out of the conference room.

​I passed the windows. The city was out there. Millions of people.

​I didn't see them.

​I saw a white screen.

​A blinking cursor.

​And a woman who was too smart to be saved.

​I reached the lobby. The press was there. The flashes started.

​"Mr. Sterling! Is it true Isabella Vane is pregnant?"

​"Mr. Sterling! Did you set the fire?"

​I didn't stop. I didn't look at them.

​I got into the back of the car.

​"Drive," I told the driver.

​"Where, sir?"

​"The end of the world," I said. "Or 5th Avenue. Whichever comes first."

​I reached into my pocket.

​I pulled out the piece of charred wood.

​I turned it over.

​There, in the center of the black soot, was a small, clean spot.

​Someone had rubbed it clear.

​And written in tiny, precise letters was a single coordinate.

​It wasn't a place.

​It was a frequency.

​I looked at the window.

​I didn't smile.

​I just breathed.

​Square breaths.

​One. Two. Three. Four.

​We were hitting the bridge.

​The water below was black.

​The vote was on Friday.

​I had three days to find her.

​Or I had three days to lose everything I’d ever built.

​The car sped up.

​The city lights blurred into a long, white line.

​A wall of light.

​Just like the island.

​"Liam?" Felix asked from the front seat.

​"What?"

​"Henderson has the banks on his side. If we lose the vote... you’re out. Permanently."

​"I know."

​"What’s the plan?"

​I looked at the coordinate on the wood.

​"I'm going to talk to a ghost," I said.

​"Your mother?"

​"No," I whispered. "The other one."

​I closed my eyes.

​The pain in my shoulder was gone.

​Now, it was just the wait.

​The long, cold wait.

​The phone in my pocket buzzed.

​An unknown number.

​I answered.

​"Liam."

​It wasn't Isabella.

​It was Julian.

​"I’m standing in your mother’s garden," Julian said. His voice was a wet rasp. "And I’ve got a match. Do you want to talk about the vote now?"

​The line went dead.