Chapter 133 Bleeding The Empire Dry
"Minerva?" Tristan’s voice reached me as if from underwater.
I didn't speak. I simply turned the phone toward him. I watched the blood drain from his face. The commanding CEO who had just reclaimed his authority collapsed into a man who looked like he had been struck in the chest.
"I pulled the secondary guards," I whispered, my voice cracking. "When the Whitmores hit the shipping ports and the banks, I moved the security detail to protect the Aegis servers. I thought… I thought they were after the money."
"It was a feint," Tristan breathed, his eyes wide with horror. "The lawsuits, the port seizures, the investor withdrawals—it wasn't just to bankrupt you. It was to stretch our resources so thin that the safe house would be vulnerable."
I looked at the text message again. The boardroom or the boy. One hour.
The choice was a jagged blade. If I went to the board meeting, I could secure my mother’s legacy, dismantle Harriet’s power, and save the company I built from the dirt. But I would be signing my son's disappearance. If I went to the warehouse, I would be walking into a trap, surrendering the bearer shares, and letting the legacy families erase Natalia Serrano’s name forever.
"We can't call the police," Diego said, his voice shaking as he checked the logistics. "Thomas owns the precinct in the north district. If we report a kidnapping, the reports will disappear before the ink is dry."
"I don't need the police," I said. The terror was still there, a raw screaming thing in the back of my mind, but a new, sharper instinct was taking over. It was the same instinct that had kept me alive in the industrial district.
I walked to my desk and grabbed the leather folder containing the shares.
"What are you doing?" Tristan asked, stepping into my path.
"I’m going to the warehouse," I stated.
"Minerva, that is exactly what they want. You’ll be walking into a kill zone. Thomas won't just take the shares; he’ll make sure you never walk out of that building to contest them."
"He has my son, Tristan!" I screamed, the sound echoing off the glass walls. "Do you think I care about a percentage of a company? Do you think I care about the Johnston name? They can have the empire. They can have the money. I want my baby."
Tristan grabbed my shoulders. His grip was firm, grounding me. "Listen to me. If you show up there alone and hand over those shares, you lose your only leverage. Once they have the papers, Elias is no longer a bargaining chip. He becomes a witness. They won't let either of you go."
I looked into his gray eyes.
"Then what do we do?" I sobbed, my forehead dropping against his chest. "I have fifty-two minutes left."
"We divide them," Tristan said, his voice dropping to a lethal, low tone. "You go to the boardroom. You walk in there with the cameras and the federal marshals. You make it a public spectacle that Harriet cannot ignore."
"I can't leave him, Tristan!"
"You aren't," he promised. He pulled back, looking me in the eye. "I am going to the warehouse. I know the layout of the North District center. I designed the security grid when we acquired it five years ago. I know the crawlspaces and the dead zones in the cameras."
"You're one man," I argued.
"I’m a man with nothing left to lose," Tristan replied. He looked at Marcus, who was already checking his sidearm. "And I’m not going alone. Marcus, take the tactical gear from the trunk of the secondary vehicle."
The weight of the moment pressed down on us. The corporate sabotage had been designed to pin me down, to make me choose between my ambition and my heart.
"If you go there," I whispered, "and Harriet sees you interfering..."
"Let her see," Tristan said. "I’m done playing her games. I spent three years trying to save the company and the woman I loved. I failed at the first. I won't fail at the second."
He reached out and touched my cheek. It was a brief, light contact, but it felt like a brand.
"Go to the board," he urged. "Be the woman your mother raised. Be the heir Alexander wanted. Buy me the time I need by keeping Harriet’s eyes on you."
I watched them leave. I watched the man who had lied to me for three years walk into a potential execution to save the son he had only just discovered.
I turned to Diego. "Call the media. Every outlet. Every gossip rag. Every financial blogger. Tell them the secret Johnston heir is about to make a public statement at the headquarters."
"Minerva, the injunction is still active," Diego warned. "The moment you step onto Johnston property, they could have you arrested for trespassing."
"Let them try," I said. I straightened my blazer. I wiped the tears from my face and replaced them with a mask of cold, unbreakable marble. "I am a Serrano. And it’s time this city remembered what that means."
The drive to the Johnston headquarters took twenty minutes. The sleet had turned into a heavy, driving rain. The streetlights reflected off the wet pavement in long, distorted streaks of yellow and white.
As the SUV pulled up to the curb, I saw the chaos.
Cameras flashed like lightning. Reporters were huddled under umbrellas, shouting questions at the security guards who were trying to hold the line. The gold crest of the Johnston Group shimmered on the glass doors, looking like a tombstone in the dark.
I stepped out of the car.
The wind caught my hair, whipping it across my face. I held the leather folder tight against my ribs. I didn't look at the cameras. I didn't look at the shouting faces. I walked straight toward the entrance.
"Miss Hayes! Or is it Miss Serrano?"
"Can you comment on the industrial espionage charges?"
"Is it true you have a child with Tristan Johnston?"
I ignored them all. I reached the glass doors. A wall of security guards in Johnston uniforms blocked the way.
"The building is under lockdown, Miss Hayes," the lead guard said. He didn't look me in the eye. "No unauthorized entry."