Chapter 9: The Mole

Clara didn't sleep either. She sat in her office with Mira, the recording playing on repeat.

"He wants the Cayman codes," Mira said. "That means he knows about the account."

"He knows about an account. Not the account." Clara leaned back. "The Caymans have three Sterling holdings. Two are decoys. One is real. If Marcus moves against a decoy, he exposes himself."

"And if he moves against the real one?"

"He won't. Not unless Damian gives him the codes. And Damian doesn't have them."

Mira frowned. "That gives us a month."

"Less. Marcus is impatient." Clara stood. "We need to flip Peter before Marcus realizes we're onto him."

"How?"

"Everyone has something they don't want the world to know. Find his."

Peter was at his desk at seven, as always. Coffee in hand. Files organized. Calm.

Damian walked past him without a word.

"Sir? The lawyers called. They want to know about the board vote."

"Tell them I'm handling it."

"Of course, sir." Peter hesitated. "Sir, is everything all right? You seem different."

Damian stopped. Turned. "Different how?"

"Distracted. Ever since the gala." Peter's voice was careful. "If you need to talk—"

"You're right. It's not your place."

Peter's face flickered. Just for a second. Then the calm returned. "Of course, sir. My apologies."

Damian walked into his office and closed the door. His hands were shaking. He had almost lost it.

He texted Clara.

He suspects something. Asked if I was different.

Her response came fast.

Expected. He's been watching you for four years. Keep your distance. Don't let him get you alone.

What about the Cayman codes?

Tell him you're working on it. That Clara is warming to you. Make him believe you're playing her.

Damian stared at the message. Playing Clara. The irony wasn't lost on him.

Understood.

And Damian? Mira found something on Peter. Come to my office tonight. Eight o'clock. Don't tell anyone.

Clara's office was dark when Damian arrived. Just one lamp on her desk. Mira was there, laptop open.

"Sit down," Clara said.

He sat. The low chair again.

"Peter has a sister," Clara said. "Older. Sick. She lives in a care facility upstate. Bills are twelve thousand a month."

Damian frowned. "Peter doesn't make that kind of money."

"No. Marcus does. The payments to Peter route through a shell company that also pays the facility directly. If Marcus cuts him off, his sister loses her care."

"That's why he's loyal."

"That's why he's trapped." Clara slid a photograph across the desk. A woman in a hospital bed. Tubes. Machines. "Her name is Sarah. Six years in that facility. Peter visits every weekend."

Damian stared at the photo. The man who had let Clara sit alone in a hospital room had spent six years making sure his sister was never alone.

"What do we do?"

"We give him a choice. We tell him we know. We tell him we can protect his sister. All he has to do is turn on Marcus."

"And if he refuses?"

"Then we go to the police. Corporate espionage. Wire fraud. He'll go to prison, and his sister loses everything." Clara's voice was cold. "I don't want that. But I will."

Damian looked at the photograph. Sarah. Tubes. Machines.

"Let me talk to him," he said.

Clara raised an eyebrow. "Why you?"

"Because I know what it's like to be trapped. To make choices you can't undo." He looked up. "And because he trusts me. Even now. He still thinks I'm the man he's been serving for four years."

Clara was quiet. Then she nodded. "Tomorrow. Bring him here. We'll do it together."

"And if he doesn't come?"

"He'll come. You're his boss. He thinks he's still in control." Clara stood. "But Damian? If this goes wrong, if Peter warns Marcus before we're ready—"

"It won't go wrong."

"You don't know that."

"I know Peter. Better than I knew myself." Damian stood. "He's not a bad man. He's a desperate one. And desperate men can be reasoned with."

Clara studied him. "You sound like you're speaking from experience."

Damian didn't answer. He walked to the door.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Eight o'clock. I'll bring him."

That night, Damian couldn't sleep. He sat in his apartment—the one Clara had picked, the one with the view she loved—and stared at the ceiling.

Peter. Four years. Coffee every morning. Files organized. The perfect assistant. And all of it was a lie.

But the sister. Sarah. The care facility. Twelve thousand a month. That wasn't a lie. That was real. That was the reason Peter had sold his soul.

Damian understood. He had sold his own soul for less. For flattery. For the illusion of being loved.

He picked up his phone. Texted Clara.

What if we're wrong about him? What if he doesn't turn?

Her response came a minute later.

Then we do what we have to do. But we do it together.

Damian stared at the message. Together. The word felt foreign. Strange. He had spent four years alone. Four years pushing Clara away. And now, when everything was falling apart, she was the only person he could trust.

He put down the phone and closed his eyes.

Tomorrow. One way or another, it ended tomorrow.