Chapter 215 A Call From Solitary Confinement
"I should have killed her in the boardroom," Tristan stated. The low gravel of his voice vibrated against my spine.
He stood behind me in the dim light of the master closet. His hands rested heavy and warm on my hips. I looked at our reflection in the full-length mirror. He wore a crisp white shirt, the cuffs unbuttoned and rolled back to expose the fading bruises on his forearms. I wore a dark trench coat.
"If you killed her, we would not have the ledger," I replied. I leaned back, letting my weight settle against his solid chest.
"She held a gun to your face, Mina." Tristan wrapped his arms around my waist, pulling me flush against him. He buried his face in the crook of my neck. His breath ghosted over my skin, a stark contrast to the cold anger in his words. "Now she wants a favor. Let the supermax keep her."
"She has the matches we need to burn Julian," I said. I covered his hands with mine. "I am going to the prison."
Tristan lifted his head. His gray eyes met mine in the glass. The protective fire burned bright, but he did not argue. He learned his lesson. He no longer tried to lock me in a glass box.
"Then I am going with you," he promised.
He turned me around in his arms. He cupped my face, his thumbs tracing the line of my cheekbones. The physical contact anchored me. The corporate war demanded steel, but his touch reminded me I possessed a beating heart. He leaned down and captured my lips. A slow, deep kiss that stripped the tension from my shoulders. He tasted like black coffee and absolute devotion.
"I have you," Tristan murmured against my mouth.
"I know," I breathed.
We left the penthouse. We rode in the back of the armored SUV in silence. Marcus drove. Rain lashed against the tinted windows, blurring the city skyline into streaks of gray and gold.
The federal supermax facility loomed on the outskirts of the capital. It was a fortress of concrete and razor wire. It lacked the polished marble of the Johnston headquarters.
We passed through three security checkpoints. Armed guards searched my coat. They confiscated my phone. Heavy iron doors clanged shut behind us, sealing us inside the belly of the beast.
A warden escorted us down a long, fluorescent-lit corridor. The light washed the color from the walls.
"She is in solitary confinement," the warden explained, his boots echoing on the linoleum. "No physical contact allowed. You get ten minutes."
He unlocked a heavy steel door and stepped aside.
I walked into the cramped visitation room. Tristan followed, taking his place in the corner. He crossed his arms over his chest, blending into the shadows. He became a silent, lethal observer.
A thick pane of reinforced glass divided the room. A single metal chair sat on my side.
The door on the opposite side opened. Two guards dragged Celeste Whitmore into the room.
I froze. The air left my lungs.
The woman across the glass was not the arrogant socialite who paraded through the elite galas. She was not the predator who ambushed me in the boardroom.
Celeste looked like a ghost.
She wore a faded orange jumpsuit. The fabric hung loose on her skeletal frame. Her blonde hair, once perfectly styled, was matted and greasy. A dark, ugly bruise covered the left side of her jaw. Her eyes darted around the room, wild and frantic. Iron chains bound her wrists to her waist.
The guards shoved her into the metal chair. They locked the door and left her alone.
Celeste grabbed the black telephone receiver mounted to the wall. Her hands shook violently. The metal chains rattled.
I sat down. I picked up my receiver.
"You came," Celeste choked out. Her voice crackled through the cheap speaker. It sounded like ground glass.
"You offered me a ledger," I said. I kept my posture rigid. I refused to let the pity show on my face. She tried to end my life. I owed her nothing.
"Julian paid the guards," Celeste sobbed. She pressed her bruised face close to the glass. "They come into my cell at night. They take my blankets. They crush glass into my food. I cannot sleep. If I sleep, they will kill me. He wants to silence me."
"Julian is thorough," I noted.
"He is a monster!" Celeste screamed. The sound distorted through the speaker. "He used me! When Thomas gave him the ghost accounts, Julian did not know how to move the funds. He needed someone on the inside. He needed the old Whitmore banking ciphers. I gave them to him. I set up the shell companies in Cyprus. I routed the dark money to the eastern syndicate."
"You funded the men who attacked my son," I stated. My voice dropped to a lethal whisper.
Celeste flinched. The terror in her eyes deepened. She looked past me, spotting Tristan in the shadows. She remembered the violence he inflicted on her reputation. She remembered the Johnston titan.
"I did not know about the school," Celeste pleaded. "I swear it on my life, Minerva. I just moved the money. I thought he was buying corporate shares. When I realized he was hiring mercenaries, I stopped. That is why I ambushed you in the boardroom. I wanted to steal the company myself before Julian burned the whole city down. I wanted to survive."