Chapter 4 - The Midnight Confession
The scotch burned hot and heavy in Elena’s throat. She set the tumbler down on the nearest marble console with a sharp *clack*.
“Are you out of your mind?” she demanded, her voice shaking with adrenaline. “I am a graphic designer! I build visual identities for mid-level commercial developments! I don't participate in corporate warfare, and I certainly don't spy on my clients!”
Gabriel didn’t flinch at her outburst. He remained perfectly still, watching her with that unnerving, predatory patience. “You didn't spy, Elena. You were used. Julian Thorne didn’t date you because of your quick wit or your remarkable green eyes. He dated you because your department held the unencrypted digital schematics for the south canal port expansion.”
The room spun slightly. Elena grabbed the edge of the console.
Three weeks ago, Julian had visited her apartment. She remembered running into the kitchen to check on the pasta while he lingered by her dining table—where her work laptop had been open, logged into the Sterling & Croft secure server. She remembered laughing about a file name. She remembered him leaning over her shoulder, kissing her neck, and telling her how brilliant she was.
*Oh God.*
A wave of nausea washed over her. “The Lakeview Terminal project,” she whispered, horror dawning in her eyes. “He asked me about the structural zoning limits. He said he was just curious about my work.”
“The Lakeview Terminal belongs to Vance Horizon,” Gabriel said coldly. “Or at least, it did until five o’clock this evening. Julian used your credentials to extract the environmental inspection loopholes. By Monday morning, Thorne Enterprises will file a public injunction claiming Vance Horizon violated federal wetland protections. The stock will plummet forty percent in two hours. My brother will use that crash to force me out, and Thorne will buy the terminal for pennies on the dollar.”
Elena backed away, shaking her head. “No. No, this can't be real. I am an ordinary person. I pay rent on an apartment in Lincoln Park. I ride the Brown Line. I don't… people don't do this!”
“People with a hundred million dollars on the line do far worse,” Gabriel replied quietly. He walked over to his laptop, spun it around, and gestured to the screen.
Elena looked.
It was a security log from Sterling & Croft’s internal database. At 9:14 PM on Tuesday of last week, an administrator-level transfer had downloaded twelve gigabytes of proprietary blueprint data to an external drive. The user login belonged to Elena Brooks.
The IP address of the destination server belonged to Thorne Enterprises.
“When this blows up on Monday,” Gabriel continued, his voice devoid of cruelty, stating facts like a coroner reading an autopsy, “Thorne won't take the fall. Your firm will protect itself by handing you over to federal prosecutors. You’ll be branded an industrial saboteur. Julian will get a promotion, my brother will take my company, and you will spend the next five to seven years in a federal penitentiary in Pekin, Illinois.”
Elena felt the air leave her lungs. Her knees gave out.
Gabriel moved with lightning speed, catching her before she could hit the floor. His hands locked around her waist, pulling her against his chest. For a moment, she was suspended against the solid, warm reality of him, his heartbeat steady beneath his dress shirt, contrasting violently with the chaos erupting inside her skull.
“Look at me,” he commanded softly.
Elena forced her eyes up. Tears of panic threatened to spill over her lashes, but she blinked them back furiously. “Why are you telling me this? If you have this proof, you can take it to the FBI right now. You can clear yourself and leave me to burn.”
“I could,” Gabriel admitted. His face was inches from hers; she could smell the clean scent of cedarwood, rain, and vintage scotch on his skin. “Except for one problem.”
“What problem?”
“The FBI works on warrants and subpoenas. That takes months. By Monday at nine in the morning, the damage is permanent. The only way to stop Julian Thorne is to strike him socially, publicly, and financially before he can file that injunction.”
Gabriel pulled her upright, keeping one steadying hand on her arm.
“Tomorrow night is the annual Harold Washington Charity Gala at the Drake Hotel. Every influential figure in Illinois politics, finance, and media will be in that ballroom. Julian Thorne is the guest of honor. He expects to celebrate his coup.”
Elena looked into his slate-gray eyes, suddenly realizing where this madness was heading. “What do you want from me, Gabriel?”
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“I want you on my arm,” Gabriel said, his voice dropping into a thrilling, dangerous whisper. “I want you in a dress that costs more than his sports car. And when he raises his glass to toast his victory, I want you to look him in the eye while I burn his empire to the ground.”
***
