Chapter 28 Burnt Evidence
Mark’s POV
The city lights below looked like dying embers from up here. Atlanta never really slept, but tonight it felt more quiet like the streets were holding their breath, waiting for something worse to happen.
I stood by the window of my office, my phone pressed to my ear, my other hand gripping a glass of whiskey I hadn’t touched.
The amber liquid trembled with each pulse of my heartbeat.
“Sir, I’ve tried calling three times,” my assistant’s voice came through the speaker, shaky.
“The investors are panicking. We lost two more this evening. They’re pulling out after that video…”
“I said handle it, Ben,” I cut in, that came out stern than i intended “Buy time. Tell them we’re investigating the source.”
“Yes, sir, but…”
“Do you job”
There was a pause from the other end “Understood,”
I dropped the phone on the desk and leaned forward, pressing my palms into the glass surface.
The reflection stared back at me and it looked nothing like a CEO.
My eyes were bloodshot.
That crazy video.
Every headline this morning screamed Mark Simmons Caught in Bed with Model.
They blurred Olivia’s face, but anyone with half a brain could recognize the penthouse décor.
My penthouse.
My company.
My name.
It didn’t matter that I remembered nothing. It didn’t matter that I woke up the next day with a hangover and guilt pounding through my skull.
The world believed what they saw.
And the more I tried to bury it, the more it spread.
I turned back to my monitors. Collins had sent me the full report an hour ago ; metadata, timestamps, source logs.
All information he could get from this anonymous blackmailer
The play button was tapped by me.
The screen filled with that grainy, disgusting footage.
My throat tightened, rage crawling under my skin.
“This isn’t real,” I muttered.
Then Collins’ voice came through the intercom. “Sir, I’ve got something.”
“Come in.”
He stepped into the room with his usual calm aura, except tonight, I could tell he was hiding something behind that professional mask.
He placed a tablet on my desk. “We ran a digital trace. The video resurfaced first through an offshore affiliate. It didn’t come from the press directly. It was rerouted.”
“By who?”
He hesitated. “Davenport,”
The glass in my hand shattered before I realized I’d squeezed it too hard. Whiskey dripped down my wrist, mingling with blood from a cut on my palm.
“Say that again,” I said, my voice low.
“It’s Davenport, sir. They used one of their dummy PR channels. We cross-referenced their data logs but everything points back to them.”
Davenport at it again
That name had haunted me for years.
Predators waiting for the right moment to strike.
And I’d just handed them the perfect weapon; my own scandal.
I grabbed my phone. “Get me Parker,” I barked.
“Sir, it’s almost midnight…”
“I don’t care. I want a full takedown order drafted in the next thirty minutes. Every website hosting that video; I want them crashed.
My Lawyer, Parker sighed.
“You're taking the wrong route, Mark.Once this kind of thing hits the net…”
“Then burn the damn internet if you have to.”
I ended the call and turned to Collins. “What about the internal leaks? Is anyone on payroll working with them?”
Collins exchanged a glance with his assistant who had followed him in. “We’re still cross-checking, sir. But… there’s something else.”
I looked up. “What?”
He pulled up a document on the tablet.
“Some of the data traffic we tracked went through a family-linked channel before it reached Davenport’s servers.”
My chest tightened. “What kind of channel?”
He met my gaze. “It was authorized from an account that belongs to your sister.”
The silence stretched between us like a knife.
Carmen.
Of course it was her.
I should’ve seen it coming.
My voice came out like a growl. “Get her on the phone.”
“She’s not answering.”
I turned away from him, pacing to the window again.
My company was bleeding. My name was a headline. My sister was a traitor.
And Becca…
Becca still wasn’t answering my calls.
The thought of her tightened something deep in my chest.
She had no idea about any of this, about Carmen, about the kidnapping, about how close she’d been to the center of a storm she didn’t create.
I ran a hand over my face. “Collins, send security to check Becca’s apartment. Discreetly. I don’t want her scared.”
He nodded, then hesitated. “There’s one more thing.”
“What now?”
He took a breath. “We found her sister.”
For a second, I thought I’d misheard him. “What?”
“Her sister, the one that was captured by Davenport,”
“We located her at an abandoned safe house outside the city. She’s alive and safe,”
The words hit me like a rush of cold air.
Relief and guilt twisted together in my chest until I could barely breathe.
I sank into my chair, staring at nothing. “Does Becca know?”
“No, sir. We thought it best to wait until we had full clearance before contacting her.”
I shook my head slowly. “I will inform her myself,”
I picked up my phone and dialed her number again.
She still didn't pick up, it went as voicemail.
“Becca, it’s me,” I said quietly, staring at the rain sliding down the window. “I know I don’t deserve your time, but there’s something you need to know. Just… please, call me back.”
I ended the call and set the phone down, trying to focus on the chaos around me, but my mind kept drifting to her face.
“Sir,” Collins trembled, holding up my phone. “You need to see this.”
He handed it to me. The screen was lit to a single notification glowing at the top.
Unknown Number: You’re looking in the wrong direction.
Then another ping followed, and a map opened automatically, a live location.
My blood went cold.
“Whose number is this?” I asked.
Collins frowned. “Its identity is hidden but…”
I didn’t wait for him to finish. I grabbed my jacket and stormed toward the door.
“Sir, where are you going?”
“To Becca.”
The elevator door closed behind me before he could argue.
Down in the parking lot, the rain hit hard, cold against my face as I unlocked the car. The city stretched before me, wet streets and flickering lights.
I opened the map again. The blue dot pulsed on the screen, small but steady.
Becca’s location.
I started the engine, tires screeching against the pavement. My heart pounded so hard I could barely hear over it.
But halfway down the street, something hit me , a realization sharp enough to slice through the noise.
The number that sent the map…
It wasn’t Becca’s.
And if it wasn’t hers, then who the hell was leading me straight to her door?
The rain blurred the windshield, but I di
dn’t slow down. I pressed harder on the accelerator, every instinct screaming the same thing.
Whatever this was, whoever was behind it they weren’t done playing.
And Becca was still in the middle of it.