Chapter 22 THE PRICE OF FAME
"You are going to scare them off, Si. Nobody on this side of the city pays that kind of money for a simple extraction."
Jax was staring at the digital invoice on the tablet like it was a suicide note. He looked at me, then back at the numbers, his brow furrowing in deep concern.
"We are fixers, not corporate consultants," he added, pacing the length of the garage. "If we double our rates, people will just go to the next crew down the block. We are borderline bankrupt as it is. We can't afford to lose the few clients we have left."
I leaned against the metal workbench and crossed my arms. I let a small, confident smile play on my lips. "They won't go to the next crew, Jax. Do you know why?"
"Because we’re family?" Leo chimed in from his corner, not looking up from his monitors.
"No," I said. "Because I am the Queen of the Pit. Because a top lieutenant of the Harbingers approached me in front of a thousand witnesses and offered me a job. In this world, perception is everything. We are no longer a budget crew struggling for crumbs. We are an elite team. And elite teams don't work for peanuts."
Leo frowned. “That’s corporate logic.”
“Yes,” I replied. “And it works.”
I had spent my entire life watching my father negotiate. I had seen him turn a simple shipping route into a multi-million dollar monopoly just by changing the way he spoke about his assets. I was Elena Cruz. I knew how to sell a brand. And right now, "Siren" was the hottest brand on the street.
"If they want the best, they pay for the best," I continued. "Trust me. The clients who can actually afford us will appreciate the hike. It makes them feel like they are buying something exclusive."
For a week, things were quiet. Then the calls started again. And they didn’t stop.
Clients who once negotiated fees now accept the quote without protest. Some even asked if we were available for longer contracts. We had to turn down jobs. Turn them down.
By the end of the month, we were running on caffeine and stubbornness, but the numbers in Leo’s spreadsheets had nearly doubled.
Money had a sound, but it wasn’t the rustle of bills or the clink of coins. It was the low, steady hum of opportunity…. of doors opening before you even knocked.
It heard it in the way our phones did not stop ringing, in the way clients who once haggled now spoke carefully, respectfully, as though they were negotiating with something sharper than muscle.
Business was booming.
Two weeks later, the crew was exhausted, but the tension in the garage had evaporated. We had booked more gigs in seven days than the crew usually handled in three months. The influx of cash was staggering. We weren't just out of debt; we were becoming wealthy.
"I take it back," Jax muttered as he dumped a fresh stack of bills into the floor safe. "You’re a genius, Si. A terrifying, greedy genius."
"I prefer the term 'business-savvy,'" I replied with a wink.
But my mind wasn't on the money. I walked over to Leo’s station. "What did you find on Detective Miller?"
Leo sighed and pulled up a map with a few flickering red dots. "It is weird, Si. I couldn't find a current address or a phone number. It is like he fell off the face of the earth. But I managed to trace his old credit card receipts from the month after he 'retired'."
I leaned in, my heart skipping a beat. "Where did he go?"
"He was bouncing around," Leo said, pointing to the dots. Motels in Jersey. A diner in Pennsylvania. A gas station in Ohio. He stayed on the move for about four months. He was using cash for the big stuff, but he slipped up a few times with the card. Then, six months ago, the receipts just... stopped."
"Is he dead?" I asked, my voice low.
"Maybe," Leo said. "But based on the pattern, I'd say he was on the run. He was circling back toward the city before he went dark. He was hiding from someone, Si. And whoever it was, they were close behind him."
I filed the information away. Miller was alive, or at least he had been. He was a piece of the puzzle I needed to solve the London mystery.
That night, I retreated to my loft. The space still felt small, but it was starting to feel like mine. I decided it was time to clear out the old clutter. I needed to make room for the "New Siren."
I started with the wardrobe. I pulled out the skimpy mesh tops and the worn-out leather that Sienna had loved. As I reached the back of the heavy wooden cabinet, I noticed a slight misalignment in the rear panel.
I frowned and pressed my hand against the wood. It gave way with a soft click.
Hidden in a hollowed-out space was a small, black burner phone. It was old, the screen was cracked, but it was fully charged.
I sat on the edge of the bed and turned it on. There were no apps. No photos. Just a single contact saved in the address book.
Reid.
My breath hitched. I opened the messages.
There were dozens of them. They weren't business logs or mission briefings. They were love letters. Short, passionate, and filled with a desperate kind of longing.
Reid: I can't stay away much longer, Si. Every hour without you feels like a year.
Sienna: Then don't stay away. Meet me at the docks tonight.
Reid: One day, we’ll leave all this behind. I promise. Just you and me.
I felt a sharp, searing heat in my chest. The brand Sienna had given me in the void began to throb with a rhythmic, painful pulse. "I know," I whispered, clutching my chest. "I haven't forgotten. I'll look into your mission, too."
I scrolled to the very last message. It was dated the day of Sienna’s accident.
Reid: My father found out, Si. He knows everything. He is furious. We have to go. Now. I managed to get my hands on his safe box key and its actual location. I hid the key at a gravestone in the cemetery at the upper side of town, underneath the broken angels. Meet me there at midnight. Don't tell anyone. Not even Jax. I love you.
The message had never been replied to. Sienna had been ambushed before she could reach him.
Reid wasn't just a lover. He was a witness. He had stolen something from his father, someone powerful enough to make a high-level fixer like Sienna go off the rails with worry.
And if Reid’s father was who I suspected, with fancy money, then the safe box key would be extremely valuable to me.