Chapter 156 THE PUPPET MASTER

Chapter 156 THE PUPPET MASTER


~ANNETTE'S POV~

Richard looked like a man who hadn't slept in a week.

He was pacing the length of the rented, windowless office I'd chosen for our meeting, his hands shaking. He smelled like worn scotch and manic misery.

"Where is she, Annette?" he demanded, stopping to slam his hands on the table. "David said you had a location. Where is my wife?"

I didn't flinch. I just took a slow sip of my bottled water.

"Sit down, Richard."

"I am not playing games!" he shouted, his eyes wide and bloodshot. "Tell me where she is hiding!"

"Sit down," I repeated, my voice dropping to a cold, flat register. "Or I walk out that door, and you never find her."

Richard froze. He swallowed hard, his chest heaving, and slumped into the plastic chair opposite me.

"Good," I said.

I reached into my designer tote and pulled out a thick legal document. I slid it across the table toward him, followed by a silver pen.

"What the hell is this?" he asked, staring at it like it was a snake.

"That is a transfer of voting rights," I explained smoothly. "It pledges Blackwood Industries' resources and board support to my hostile takeover of Sterling Corps. When my father's medical proxy kicks in, I want your people backing me."

Richard blinked at me. "You're extorting me."

"I'm negotiating," I corrected. "I give you the woman who ruined your life. You give me the leverage to build mine. It's a very fair trade."

Richard didn't even read the first paragraph.

He grabbed the pen and scribbled his signature on the bottom line so hard the paper tore. He shoved it back across the table.

"Done," he hissed. "Now give her to me."

I smiled, slipping the signed document back into my bag. It was almost too easy.

"The old industrial bridge," I said. "On the outskirts of the city, right past the abandoned rail yard. Friday."

"Friday," Richard repeated, his eyes darkening with violent anticipation. "What time?"

"Six o'clock in the evening," I said. "Don't be late, Richard. She's skittish. If you aren't there the second she arrives, she will bolt."

"I will be early," he promised.

He stood up, buttoning his wrinkled jacket. He looked like a dead man walking.

"Oh, and Richard?" I called out before he reached the door.

He paused.

"Make it count," I said.

Richard didn't say a word. He just nodded once and walked out into the street. Two hours later, I was sitting in a booth at a dingy, grease-stained diner in Queens. 

The air smelled like burnt coffee and bleach.

The bell above the door chimed.

A woman walked in, wearing an oversized trench coat, a cheap scarf wrapped around her head, and dark sunglasses. She kept her head down, sliding into the booth across from me.

"You're late," I said.

Monica took off her sunglasses. She looked terrible. Her skin was pale, her eyes bruised with exhaustion. 

The Queen of Manhattan had been reduced to a rat hiding in the subway.

"Did you bring the cash?" Monica whispered, her eyes darting nervously around the empty diner.

"No," I said.

"What?" Monica grabbed my wrist across the sticky table. "Annette, you promised! Dad's accounts are frozen. The police raided the safe house. I have twenty dollars to my name! You said you'd bring money!"

I pulled my wrist out of her grasp. "Keep your voice down."

I reached into my pocket and pulled out a cheap, plastic burner phone. I slid it across the table.

"I brought you something better than cash, Monica. I brought you a way out."

Monica stared at the phone. "What is this?"

"It's a direct line to a fixer," I lied smoothly. "He specializes in ghosting people. He has a fake passport, a new identity, and fifty thousand in untraceable cash waiting for you."

Monica let out a shaky breath, tears welling in her eyes. "Thank God. Annette...thank God."

"But he won't meet you just anywhere," I continued. "He's paranoid. He wants a clean drop."

"Where?" Monica asked, clutching the phone like a lifeline. "Tell me where to go."

"The old industrial bridge past the rail yard," I said, leaning in close. "Friday."

"Friday?" Monica panicked. "Annette, I can't wait until Friday! The police are everywhere! Alexander's men are everywhere!"

"It takes time to forge a passport, Monica," I snapped. "You want to cross the border or do you want to rot in prison? You wait until Friday."

She swallowed hard, nodding rapidly. "Okay. Okay, Friday. What time?"

"Six o'clock exactly," I said. "Wait in the center of the bridge. He'll pull up in a black car. You get in, and you never come back."

Monica closed her eyes, relief washing over her ruined face.

"I'll be there," she whispered.

She looked up at me, her lower lip trembling. 

For a second, I saw the older sister who used to brush my hair when we were kids. The sister who had protected me from our father's temper before the money and the greed hollowed her out.

"Why are you doing this for me?" Monica asked softly. "After everything... after the way I treated you... why are you helping me escape?"

I looked her dead in the eye. I didn't even blink.

"Because you're my sister," I said. "And family takes care of family."

Monica reached out and squeezed my hand. "I won't forget this, Annette. I promise."

"I know you won't," I said.

She slid out of the booth, pulling her scarf tight around her face, and hurried out the diner door into the rain.

I sat there for a moment, listening to the rain hit the greasy windowpane. I took a sip of my cold coffee and smiled.

Two birds. One stone.

My phone buzzed in my purse. I pulled it out.

David: "Is the board set?"

I typed back without hesitation.

Me: "The board is set. The pieces are moving. See you on Friday."