Page 56 of His Dark Desires

Daniel's face falls, but he nods. "I'm here if you need anything. Day or night."

"Thank you." I stand, shouldering my bag. "Really. For telling me all this."

I walk out of the coffee shop, my steps calm. Let Daniel think I'm scared. It's better than him knowing the truth. Adrian may own the game board, but I'm done being just another piece to move around. I just need proof of how his system works.

Then maybe I can start playing, too.

Chapter 18

Adrian

I watch the holographic display flicker with the recorded conversation between Sophia and Daniel. My jaw clenches as I observe their clandestine meeting through the lens of my technology.

"The AI isolated their conversation perfectly, despite the coffee shop's ambient noise," Mara says as she leans closer to my desk. Her fingers dance through the air, manipulating the holographic interface so that security footage from the coffee shop's cameras appears alongside the audio. ATLAS had easily breached their outdated system, providing multiple angles of the entire conversation. "She was clever enough to leave her phone behind, but Daniel's device captured everything."

My fingers drum against my desk, a tell I need to control better. The coffee shop's filtered audio fills my office, Daniel's voice stripped of background noise by my AI's advanced processing.

I watch Sophia's face on the display, studying every micro-expression as Daniel continues his exposition of my business practices. Her eyes widen slightly at each revelation, her fingers tightening around her cup.

The muscle in my jaw ticks as I process this betrayal. Not from Sophia—I'd anticipated her seeking answers. But Daniel... his meddling has become more than a mere annoyance.

"Shall I prepare a response?" Mara asks, her tone neutral.

I raise my hand, silencing her as I continue to watch. The recording shows Sophia leaning forward, hanging on Daniel's every word about my supposedly nefarious dealings. The filtered audio carries the tremor in her voice as she asks questions.

My fingers still their drumming, coming to rest flat against the desk's surface. The truth of my operations was always going to surface eventually. But having Daniel be the messenger—that's an insult I won't tolerate.

Mara brings up the digital trail of Daniel's activities. My blood boils beneath my composed exterior as ATLAS presents his research pattern—forums, dark web inquiries, conversations with journalists known for exposing tech corruption.

"He's been particularly active in cryptocurrency circles," Mara notes, pulling up timestamped records. "Asking about your company's market manipulation algorithms."

I turn in my chair, taking in the view from my 40th-floor vantage point. Each pinprick of light below represents another piece of my empire, everything I've built. Behind me, the screens paint Daniel's life in cold data: bank statements showing mounting debt, desperate emails to galleries, social media posts coated in fake confidence.

"Sir, perhaps we should consider—"

"Stop." I cut through Mara's words. She falls silent, knowing better than to push when I use that tone. "Show me his exhibitions."

Mara hesitates for a fraction of a second—I'm watching her ghost on the window—before pulling up Daniel's professional calendar. The display fills with upcoming shows, gallery commitments, critic meetings.

"His biggest opening is next month at the Morton Gallery," she says, highlighting the event. "He's invested considerable resources in this show. The pieces are... experimental. Mixed media incorporating technology themes."

My jaw tightens as I process this information. Of course he'd choose now to dabble in tech-focused art. A deliberate provocation, no doubt.

"He's also scheduled meetings with three major critics," Mara continues, the appointments appearing in sequence. "And there's a potential buyer interested in acquiring his entire collection."

I turn back to face the screens, studying every detail of Daniel's planned future. Each exhibition, each meeting, each potential sale represents a thread I could pull to unravel his life. Just as he's attempting to unravel mine.

"The subtle approach," I say, tasting the words like bitter medicine, "would be to let him continue his little investigation. Let him think he's gaining ground."

Mara straightens, sensing the shift in my tone. "And the alternative?"

I step closer to the displays, Daniel's face multiplied across dozens of photos. "The alternative is to remind him why some secrets stay buried."

I sit down and pull up Daniel's full financial records with a few keystrokes, watching the numbers scroll across my screen.

"Three years ago, he lost $50,000 in underground poker games." The transactions flash red in my system. "He borrowed from some particularly unsavory characters."

"Those debts were settled," Mara points out.

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