Three days passed in a blur of forced smiles and veiled threats. The ballroom of the Pierre Hotel was a hive of activity. Waiters polished silverware, florists arranged hydrangeas, and Christy Shaw stood in the center of it all, barking orders.
Anona walked in, keeping her spine straight despite the nausea rolling in her gut. She had to be here. Alexander had made that clear. Show your face, or the sister pays.
Christy turned, spotting Anona. She smiled, a saccharine expression that didn't reach her eyes. She was wearing white. A power move.
Anona, you look... tired, Christy said, loud enough for the nearby socialites to hear. Trouble at home?
The whispers started immediately. The rumors of the "affair" were already circulating in their circle.
Anona walked past her, brushing Christy's arm aside. We don't need two commanders here, Christy. This is the Chairwoman's duty.
Christy leaned in, her voice dropping to a hiss. Not for long. Alexander has the press release drafted.
Anona stopped. She looked at Christy, really looked at her. Christy was just another employee, another pawn thinking she was a queen.
Wait for the ink to dry, Anona said coldly.
She walked to the far corner of the room, pretending to check the wine list. She pulled out her phone. The script she had run last night was finished.
A notification flashed. Suspicious Outflow: Vanguard Medical.
Fifty thousand dollars a month. Approved by Alexander.
Anona frowned. Vanguard Medical was a shell. The IP address was a dead end, a series of ghost servers. But the transaction ID, embedded in the digital ledger, held a ghost of a different kind. She cross-referenced it with international banking protocols, and a routing number finally materialized from the encrypted noise.
She felt dizzy. The room swayed. She needed air.
She slipped out the French doors onto the terrace. The cool night air hit her face.
Someone was already there. The glowing ember of a cigar bobbed in the darkness.
Harrison Sterling leaned against the stone balustrade, looking out at the park.
He crushed the cigar out as she approached. You look like you're going to faint.
Just low blood sugar, Mr. Sterling, Anona managed, gripping the railing.
Harrison reached into his tuxedo pocket and pulled out a square of dark chocolate wrapped in gold foil.
Eat. I don't want to call an ambulance to my own family's gala.
Anona took it. Her fingers brushed his palm. His skin was rough, warm. A jolt of electricity shot up her arm, startling her.
She unwrapped the chocolate and placed it on her tongue. The bitterness grounded her.
Mr. Sterling, she said, deciding to gamble. Have you ever heard of Vanguard Medical?
Harrison went still. He turned to her slowly, his eyes narrowing.
Where did you hear that name?
Anona lied, her heart hammering against her ribs. Alexander mentioned it. A new investment.
Harrison let out a dark chuckle. Alexander doesn't have the brain for medical tech. And the Family Trust forbids it.
He took a step closer. He towered over her, blocking out the light from the ballroom.
If he is moving money there, he is playing with fire. Tell me the truth, Anona. What is he doing?
Anona looked up at him. This was the moment.
He's embezzling, she whispered. I have the logs. But I need protection.
Harrison studied her face, searching for deceit. He found only desperation and a terrifying intelligence.
Christy's voice rang out from the doorway. Mr. Sterling? Alexander is looking for you.
Harrison didn't look away from Anona.
Midnight, he said, his voice barely audible. My study. Bring the proof. Don't let anyone see you.
He stepped back, his mask of indifference sliding back into place.
Anona watched him walk back inside. She swallowed the last of the chocolate. She had just made a deal with the devil to kill a demon.
