Chapter 69

POV: Liam

The red light of the drone outside the window wasn't just a camera; it was a target lock. I didn’t need Marcus to tell me that the safe house had become a kill box. Eleanor was no longer playing the corporate game; she was cleaning the slate. When you’ve lost twenty billion dollars in a single afternoon, a few more crimes to cover the tracks don’t seem so expensive.

"Stairs, now!" I barked, grabbing Isabella’s hand.

We burst out into the narrow, dimly lit hallway of the Queens tenement. The air smelled of grease and old laundry, a sharp contrast to the clinical scent of the Sterling medical wing. I could hear the rhythmic thud of heavy boots hitting the pavement outside—Eleanor’s private security, the men who were paid to be more efficient than the police and far less concerned with paperwork.

"Marcus, take the service elevator to the basement," I said, my mind spinning through the tactical layouts I’d memorized years ago. "Fire the decoy signal from the van. Make them think we’re heading toward the Brooklyn Bridge."

"What about you?" Marcus asked, his hand already on the elevator’s iron gate.

"I’m the one they want to find," I said. "I’m the one with the 'kidnapped' heiress. I’ll lead them toward the train tracks. Isabella, you’re going with Marcus."

"No," Isabella said, her voice sharp and uncompromising. She didn't let go of my hand. Her grip was surprisingly strong, the lack of the shunt’s interference making her movements fluid and human again. "We just got the truth, Liam. I am not letting you turn yourself into a distraction so I can hide in a basement."

"It’s not hiding, it’s surviving," I said, pulling her into the stairwell. "If we’re together, we’re a stationary target. If we split, they have to divide their resources. They can’t afford to lose sight of either of us, but they’ll prioritize me because they think I have the physical files."

"Which you do," she pointed out, glancing at the jacket pocket where the Julian Vane folder was tucked.

"They don’t know that for sure," I said. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a second, identical manila folder—a decoy I’d prepared at the office before the world fell apart. "I’ll carry the weight. You carry the future. Marcus has the real drive. Get to the safe-deposit box at the terminal. If I’m not there by dawn, you open it."

"Liam—"

"Isabella, look at me," I said, stopping on the third-floor landing. The sound of the front doors being kicked in echoed up the stairwell—a heavy, metallic boom that vibrated through the concrete. "For three years, I’ve been the one holding the leash. For once, I need you to be the one who runs. Not from me. For us."

She looked at me, her eyes searching mine. I saw the flash of the old Isabella—the one who had stood on the bridge—flicker and be replaced by the woman who had just stared down a courtroom. She didn't argue. She leaned in, her forehead pressing against mine for a brief, agonizing second.

"Don't you dare become a martyr, Liam Sterling," she whispered. "I haven't finished hating you yet."

"I’m too selfish to die," I promised.

I shoved her toward the door that led to the service elevator where Marcus was waiting. I didn't watch her go. I couldn't. If I watched her, I’d follow her, and if I followed her, we’d both be caught.

I turned and ran up the stairs, my boots thudding against the metal treads. I needed to be loud. I needed to be visible. I reached the roof and burst through the heavy door into the cool, damp night air.

The city hummed around me, a distant, indifferent roar of traffic and life. I ran to the edge of the roof, looking down at the street. Three black SUVs were idling at the curb, their doors open. Men in tactical vests were fanning out, their flashlights cutting through the darkness like searchlights.

I pulled the decoy folder from my jacket and held it up, making sure the red light of the drone above me caught the movement. I didn't hide. I stood in the center of the gravel-covered roof, a clear silhouette against the sky.

"He’s on the roof!" a voice shouted from below. "Subject confirmed. He has the files!"

The pursuit was instantaneous. I heard the door behind me hit the wall. I didn't wait. I ran for the edge of the building, jumping the gap to the adjacent warehouse. The impact jarred my teeth, a sharp pain radiating through my ankles, but I didn't stop. I was the rabbit. I was the prize.

I led them across three rooftops, the sound of the drone’s rotors a constant, buzzing shadow over my shoulder. I could see the flash of their lights behind me, hear the barks of their commands into their headsets. They were closing the distance. Eleanor had hired the best, and they were gaining.

I reached the end of the block, where the warehouse overlooked the elevated train tracks. A train was rumbling toward the station, its lights a blinding yellow streak in the rain.

This was the divergence.

I looked down. It was a twenty-foot drop to the gravel bed of the tracks. If I timed it wrong, I’d be crushed. If I timed it right, I’d be gone.

"Stop right there, Sterling!" a voice shouted.

I turned around. Two men were standing at the edge of the roof, their weapons drawn but lowered. They didn't want to kill me—not yet. They wanted the folder.

"Give us the documents and walk away," the lead guard said. "The board just wants the IP. You’re a civilian now, Liam. You don't have to die for a dead man’s secrets."

"I'm not a civilian," I said, backing toward the edge, the roar of the approaching train vibrating through my boots. "I’m the man who just liquidated your employer’s pension. Tell Eleanor that the margin call was just the beginning."

I looked over my shoulder. The train was seconds away.

"Liam, don't!"

I didn't listen. I threw the decoy folder into the air, the pages fluttering like white birds in the wind. As the guards lunged for the flying papers, I stepped off the ledge.

The world went into a slow-motion blur. The cold air, the smell of wet iron, the deafening scream of the train’s brakes. I hit the roof of the moving carriage with a bone-jarring thud, my fingers clawing at the slick metal. I slipped, sliding toward the edge, before my hand found a vent. I held on, my muscles screaming, as the train accelerated, pulling me away from the warehouse and the men on the roof.

I lay flat against the metal, the wind whipping my hair across my face. I looked back at the receding building. I could see the guards standing at the edge, their flashlights dancing over the empty roof.

I was away.

But as I looked toward the south, toward the terminal where Isabella was supposed to be, I saw a second drone—one I hadn't noticed before—peeling away from the warehouse and heading in her direction.

The decoy had worked on the men, but Eleanor’s AI was smarter. It had tracked the biometric signatures. It knew there were two of us.

I pulled my phone from my pocket—the burner Marcus had given me. It had one contact. One button. I pressed it.

"Marcus," I said, my voice barely audible over the wind. "They’re coming for her. The drone followed the elevator signal. Get her out of the terminal. Don't go to the box."

"Liam? Where are you?"

"I'm on the 7-train," I said. "I’m heading for the tower. If Eleanor wants to finish this, she’s going to have to do it in the house she stole."

"You're going back to Sterling Tower? That's suicide."

"It's not suicide," I said, looking at the distant, glowing spire of the tower. "It's an audit. Tell Isabella I'll see her at the top."

I hung up and tucked the phone away. I sat up on the roof of the train, the city lights blurring past me. I had lost my money, my chair, and my safety. But for the first time in my life, I wasn't playing by Eleanor's rules. I was the one setting the pace.

The cliffhanger wasn't the pursuit; it was the realization that as the train slowed for the next station, a notification appeared on the station’s digital billboard—a massive, glowing screen overlooking the tracks.

WARRANT ISSUED FOR LIAM STERLING. CHARGES: GRAND THEFT, CORPORATE ESPIONAGE, KIDNAPPING.

My face was on the screen, ten feet tall, a grainy image from the courtroom. I wasn't just a ghost anymore. I was the most wanted man in the city. And as I hopped down from the train onto the platform, I saw the transit police turning their heads toward me.

The "Quiet War" was officially over. The hunt had begun.