The gala was chaos.
Security evacuated five hundred people. The FBI arrived, and the Hazardous Materials (Hazmat) teams were analyzing the champagne that was supposed to kill us.
I was sitting in a side room with Tony, both of us wrapped in shock blankets like trauma victims.
Which, I suppose, we are.
"Ms. Blaire." Agent Chen approaches. "We need your statent."
I tell him everything. The waiter, the champagne, and Luca’s warning. The text ssage with our photo.
"We found the glasses," Chen says. "Preliminary analysis shows military-grade nerve agent. Lethal within seconds of ingestion."
My stomach turns. "We were going to drink it."
"If Luca hadn’t stopped you, you’d both be dead right now."
Tony’s hand finds mine and squeezes it. We were seconds from death.
Again.
"The waiter?" I ask.
"Gone. Completely vanished. We have security footage of him entering through the service entrance. His credentials checked out, except they were fake. It was expert forgery, but by the ti we realized, he’d disappeared."
"Professional," Tony says grimly.
"Very. Whoever’s behind this has serious resources." Chen pulls up images on his tablet. "We’re analyzing the photo that was sent to you. Trying to trace the source."
Timothy joins us. "The text ca from a burner phone, bounced through servers in six countries. It’s untraceable."
"What about the photo itself?" I ask. "Soone took that from inside the room."
Elliot’s face appears on Chen’s tablet via video call. "I’ve been analyzing the tadata. It was taken from inside the gala. Approximately fifteen feet from where you were standing, a high-end cara phone was sent imdiately."
"So soone in that room tried to kill us and photographed the attempt," Tony says. "How many people were there?"
"Guest list shows 342 attendees," Timothy says. "Plus staff, catering, security, and venue employees. Another 200 people, making it a total of 542 potential suspects."
"We can narrow it down," I say, my analytical mind engaging despite the fear. "Cross-reference the guest list with anyone connected to Charles Sterling."
Lisa appeared on screen beside Elliot. "Already on it. I’ve found forty-seven guests with potential links. Business associates, charity connections, and social circles that overlap with Sterling’s network."
"Forty-seven," Tony repeats. "That’s still too many."
"And that’s just the obvious connections," Timothy adds. "Charles was careful. His real students might not have visible ties to him."
I look at Tony and saw the fear beneath his controlled exterior.
"We need to go offensive," he says. "Draw them out. Make them co to us."
"How?" I ask.
"We announce sothing public, sothing that forces a response."
"Like what?"
His jaw sets. "Marvin Industries is launching a charitable foundation. The Sterling morial Fund nad after Charles’s daughter."
I stare at him. "You want to provoke them?"
"I want to make them angry, emotional, and sloppy. That’s when people make mistakes."
"That’s also when people get killed," Timothy protests. "Tony, you’d be painting targets on yourselves."
"We’re already targets." Tony’s voice is hard. "At least this way, we control the narrative. Force them to react on our tiline."
"No." My voice is firm. "We don’t provoke. We investigate properly."
Everyone looks at .
"Richard Blackwood worked with Charles Sterling. He kept records, client lists, associates." I’m thinking out loud now. "Premier Financial’s records were seized by the FBI years ago, but Richard kept personal backups. I’m sure he did."
"Where?" Tony asks.
"Victoria Sterling. Richard worked with her father; I’m sure she would have so of his personal effects, including their private files."
"You want to break into a dead woman’s estate?"
"I want to find the truth, and I’m pretty certain that’s where it is."
The next morning, Susan drives to her family’s estate in Westchester.
Tony and Bella are with , with Luca’s people providing security. This feels ridiculous, using ard guards to visit an empty house, but after last night, I’m not taking chances.
Susan’s connections got us access. Victoria Sterling’s distant relatives inherited the estate but never moved in. Too many bad mories, or probably they didn’t want to be associated with the Sterling na.
The house is massive, cold, and empty.
"Victoria’s personal effects were stored in the east wing," Susan says, leading us through echoing hallways. "Nobody’s touched them. The family wanted nothing to do with Charles Sterling’s legacy."
We found one Richard’s file in the study, and it’s like walking into a ti capsule.
There were books, papers, and photos on the desk, including one of . My first day at Premier Financial.
I’d forgotten he took that.
"He was obsessed with you," Tony says quietly.
"He was obsessed with control. I was just a useful piece."
Bella’s examining the room with her engineer’s eye. "If they hid sothing, where would it be?"
I checked the bookshelf, systematically pulling out books. Looking for-
There.
It was a hidden lever. The shelf swings open, revealing a safe.
"Of course," Tony mutters.
The safe has an electronic keypad. We try Richard’s birthday. Wrong. Victoria’s birthday. Wrong.
Then I rember the day he gave the Marvin account.
I enter the date, and the safe clicks open.
Inside, we saw USB drives, docunts, and ledgers in Richard’s ticulous handwriting.
"This is everything," I breathe. "His entire operation."
Back at our apartnt, a new, more secure place, Elliot analyzes the data remotely.
"This is comprehensive," he says, his voice awed. "Every client Richard ever had. Every transaction and every connection."
"Cross-reference with Charles Sterling’s network," I instruct.
Elliot’s fingers fly, and nas appear on screen.
"Twelve people," he announces. "All worked with both Richard and Charles; they’re successful now, having legitimate businesses."
"Anyone at the gala?" Tony asks.
"Three." Elliot highlights them. "And cleared by the FBI’s initial investigation."
"Which ans they’re good," Bella says. "Really good at hiding."
The three nas stare at us from the screen:
Will Grant - Real estate mogul, 45
Rose Fisher - Art dealer, 38
Ted Zhao - Tech entrepreneur, 35
"We investigate," I say. "Quietly. Gather evidence before we accuse."
"How?" Timothy asks via video call.
"We split up," Tony says. "I take Will Grant, Katherine takes Rose Fisher, and Bella investigates Ted Zhao digitally."
"Forty-eight hours," I add. "We find proof, then we strike."
"And if they realize you’re investigating?" Timothy’s face is grim.
"Then they make a move," Tony says. "And we catch them."
That night, Tony and I were alone in our apartnt.
It’s a new place, top floor with a security system that would make the Pentagon jealous, but it doesn’t feel like ho yet.
Nothing feels safe anymore.
"Are you scared?" I ask.
Tony’s standing at the window. Looking out at Manhattan.
"Terrified," he admits. "You?"
"Sa."
He turns to . "We’re good at this, though. Fighting and surviving together."
"I don’t want to be good at fighting anymore, Tony. I want to be good at living."
"We will be." He crosses to and takes my hands. "After this, we end Charles Sterling’s legacy for good. We really live."
"Promise?"
"I promise."
He kisses , gentle at first. Then deeper.
We make love slowly and tenderly, not the desperate coupling of people who might die tomorrow.
But the connected intimacy of people building a future together.
Tony’s hands were reverent, as if learning for the first ti.
"I love you," he whispers against my skin.
"I love you too."
We take our ti. Savoring each other, this mont, this connection.
Because tomorrow, one of us might die trying to find the truth.
Afterward, we lie tangled together.
"No matter what happens tomorrow," I say, "I love you."
"I love you too." His arms tighten around . "And we’re going to win. We always do."
I want to believe that.
But Charles Sterling’s ghost has been haunting us for over a year now.
And I’m not sure we can kill a ghost.
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