Chapter 6 - The Tables Turn
The color drained from Camille’s face so fast it looked as though someone had wiped it with a white cloth.
For the first time since she had stepped out of the hospital bed, the terrifying mask of absolute control cracked. She stood up from the mattress, her hands trembling slightly despite her best efforts to keep them steady.
“You’re bluffing,” she snapped, though her voice lacked its earlier venom, carrying a thin, brittle edge of panic. “Dr. Aris is already out of the country. The Swiss accounts are locked behind three-factor biometric encryption that only I can authorize. If you kill me or lock me away, those files go public automatically. You’re committing suicide, Declan!”
Declan ended the call with a soft click, slipping the satellite phone back into his wet jacket pocket. He walked slowly toward her, his boots clicking rhythmically against the hardwood floor. The old gunshot wound in his shoulder throbbed with a dull, familiar ache, fueling the cold fire in his veins.
“You think I rely on Swiss banks and offshore proxies to keep my secrets, Camille?” Declan asked, stopping just three feet away from her. He looked down into her wide, panicked eyes. “When you live in the underworld, you learn early on that digital files can be hacked, encrypted, or seized. That’s why real power isn’t stored on a hard drive in Zurich.”
Camille’s breath hitched. “What... what are you talking about?”
“The manila folder you pulled out of my safe,” Declan said, pointing a finger at the bedside table where she had dropped the documents during their initial standoff. “You thought those were federal indictments and tax ledgers. Did you actually open and read them, Camille, or were you too busy admiring your own reflection in the mirror?”
Camille’s gaze darted toward the thick manila folder resting on the mahogany table. Her breath caught in her throat. She had grabbed it in a rush, trusting the red classification seals stamped across the cover by her Estonian proxy.
With shaking fingers, she lunged forward, snatched the folder off the table, and ripped the clasp open. She pulled out the top papers.
Blank sheets of heavy bond paper. Every single page was completely, utterly blank, save for a single handwritten note scrawled across the top of the first page in Declan’s sharp, precise handwriting: Welcome back, darling. Game over.
Camille dropped the papers as if they had burned her skin. They fluttered down onto the Persian rug like dead leaves.
“No,” she whispered, staggering backward until the back of her knees hit the edge of the mattress. “No, that’s impossible! I saw the transfer logs! I saw the federal warrants!”
“You saw what my accountant wanted you to see,” Declan corrected smoothly. He stepped closer, towering over her. “Six months ago, when I noticed subtle discrepancies in the offshore routing numbers, I didn't panic. I set a trap. I knew someone inside my inner circle was leaking data to a rival faction—or planning an exit strategy. I fed you fake intelligence, Camille, and watched to see who would take the bait.”
On the floor, Tessa let out a soft, hysterical gasp, staring at Declan in sheer horror. “You... you knew? All along?”
Declan glanced down at the young maid. “I knew someone was smuggling medical supplies out of the west wing three weeks ago, Tessa. The security logs showed minor discrepancies in the supply closet inventory. It didn't take a genius to figure out that your mother’s 'miraculous' hospital transfer in Vancouver was being funded by an anonymous Swiss wire account.”
Tessa burst into fresh tears, burying her face in her hands. “They were going to kill her! They said if I didn't help Madame fake her routine and keep watch, my mother wouldn't survive the week!”
“Your mother’s medical bills were paid in full by my personal foundation this morning, Tessa,” Declan said flatly. “She was transferred to a secure facility in Seattle an hour ago under 24-hour guard. She’s safe.”
Tessa stared up at him, her mouth opening and closing soundlessly, pure shock and overwhelming relief crashing over her features.
Camille, however, looked like her entire world had collapsed into ash. The ice-cold mastermind was gone, replaced by a desperate woman cornered by a predator who had been ten steps ahead of her the entire time.
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“So that’s it?” Camille hissed, her voice trembling with rage and disbelief. “You knew I was alive, you knew I was planning to run, and you just... played along? You watched me?”
“I wanted to see who was behind the curtain,” Declan said softly, his eyes dead and cold. “And now I have my answer.”
