Page 66 of Savage Reckoning
I turn to face her, leaning against my desk. “Blake saw you with the phone. He didn’t believe your story about finding it. He brought it directly to me.”
Her face drains of color. Such a minor mistake. Such massive consequences.
“The phone used military-grade encryption. The kind Isabel favors,” I say, tilting my head. “That was sloppy of her. Or perhaps she wanted me to know. Isabel has always enjoyed her games.”
Her gaze flickers to Julian, a brief flash of guilt crossing her features.
“He talked right away,” he continues, nodding toward the bartender. “Loyalty is so rare these days. Amazing what a gun to your head can do.” I pause. “He told us everything. The elevator override. The signal. Moretti right now waiting to walk in and put a bullet in my head while I’m… distracted. I give us about ten minutes before he’ll be here. We should get started soon.”
Her chin lifts, defiance replacing the fear. Good. I prefer her this way.
“It’s quite the plan,” I acknowledge, moving toward her until only inches separate us. “Simple. Elegant. Using my desire for you against me. And it almost worked.”
“If you knew,” she says, her voice steadier, “why bring me here? Why not just… deal with me at the lake house?”
I reach out, brushing a strand of hair from her face. She flinches. “Because I wanted to see how far you’d go,” I tell her. “I wanted to watch you play your part, knowing I could see through every lie. The performance in the car was particularly convincing. Tell me, was your orgasm fake too?”
A flush of anger spreads across her cheeks. “You’re a monster.”
“Yes,” I agree. “But I’ve never pretended to be anything else. You, on the other hand… I wonder if you even know who you are anymore.”
“I know exactly who I am!” Her voice rises, rage breaking through. “I’m the daughter of the man you murdered!”
The accusation hangs in the air. Near the window, Blake shifts his stance.
“You killed my father!” She’s shouting now, tears streaming down her face. “You had him run off the road. The car had been tampered with. I saw the proof!”
I stare at her, surprised by the raw conviction in her voice. “You mean the proof Isabel gave you?” I ask calmly.
Her eyes widen slightly. “Yes.”
I nod slowly. “Let me guess. A forged police report detailing how the brake lines were cut? A fabricated financial transaction from one of my shell companies to a conveniently dead mechanic? Maybe a doctored surveillance photo of your father with my handwriting faked on the back, ordering his death?”
Her confidence wavers. “How…?”
“Because that’s exactly how I would have framed someone,” I say. “Isabel is thorough, but her methods are predictable. She lied to you, Lea. She expertly manipulated you.”
I reach beneath my desk, pressing my palm to a hidden scanner. A panel slides open. I withdraw another folder, this one thicker. “Someone did kill your father. It just wasn’t me.”
I spread the contents across my desk. Surveillance photos of her mother meeting with North Korean handlers. Bank records showing secret payments. “Your mother, Eunji Song, has spent almost thirty years as an active North Korean operative.”
Lea’s face is a blank mask. “We’ve been over this. What’s this? More lies to mess with my head?”
I tap a redacted document from foreign intelligence. “Your father figured out who she really was. He confronted her, threatening to expose her. So, her associates eliminated the loose end.”
She stares at the document, her face bloodless. “No,” she whispers.
“You were right all along. The car crash wasn’t an accident,” I continue, my voice gentler. “But I didn’t order it. Your mother did.”
She sways, reaching for my desk to steady herself. Her world is atomizing before her eyes.
“Isabel constructed the evidence to direct your rage at me,” I explain. “She gave you a villain you could hate, someone to blame who wasn’t the mother you grew up with.”
Her legs give out, and she sinks to the floor, her back against my desk. The sobs that wrack her body are the primal sounds of absolute devastation.
I watch her break, and the cold fury inside me transforms. I don’t see a rat or a traitor. I see the ultimate victim of her mother’s treachery. I walk around the desk and crouch beside her.
“They used your love for your father to turn you into a weapon,” I say, my voice low. “But the game isn’t over. Moretti is on his way up. He thinks he’s walking into my execution.”
