Chapter 180 The Crazy Sister Strikes Back
There was no arrogance in his touch. He did not pull me against him to claim ownership. He held me like a partner. He kissed my neck, his lips tracing a burning path up to my mouth.
I tangled my fingers in his dark hair. I pulled his face down to mine. The kiss held no hesitation. It was a collision of two equals. We shed the last of our clothes. We moved to the bed. The shadows stretched across the room, hiding the scars of the past three years.
He leaned over me, supporting his weight on his good arm. The physical pain of his wound did not slow him down. His hands mapped my body, igniting a fire that burned away the cold lingering in my bones. I pulled him down, burying my face in his shoulder. The tension snapped. We moved together in the dark, cementing the vows we made in the light.
The morning sun hit the glass windows with a harsh glare.
I sat at the edge of the bed. I pulled a sharp gray business suit from the closet. The soft white silk of yesterday was gone. Today required armor.
Tristan sat up against the headboard. The sheet draped over his waist.
"You are going to the tower," he noted.
"I have a meeting with the senior vice presidents at nine," I said. I buttoned my blazer. "Ricardo Salazar drafted the final asset merger documents. I need to sign them."
"Celeste is still missing," Tristan warned.
"Marcus will drive me," I replied. "The building security is on maximum alert. No one gets past the lobby without my personal authorization. Stay here with Elias. Keep the guards on the doors."
Tristan nodded. He did not argue. He trusted my judgment.
I left the penthouse and rode the elevator to the underground garage. Marcus waited by the armored SUV. We drove through the city streets. The morning traffic crawled, but my mind raced ahead.
I walked into the Johnston headquarters. The lobby hummed with nervous energy. Employees cast quick glances in my direction. I ignored them. I stepped into the private executive elevator and rode it to the top floor.
The boardroom smelled of fresh coffee and expensive cologne. Five senior vice presidents sat around the long table. Ricardo Salazar stood near the large digital monitors.
I walked to the head of the table. I did not hesitate. I pulled out the Chairman's seat and sat down.
The executives stiffened. They waited for my command.
"Good morning," I said. My voice was crisp. "Let us begin."
Ricardo passed a thick stack of legal binders down the table.
"These documents execute the total merger of the Aegis corporate protocols with the Johnston Group network," I explained. "We are replacing the old financial architecture. The shell companies Thomas Whitmore used are dissolved. The offshore accounts Benedict Holloway created are frozen and under federal review."
I looked at a man sitting to my right. He was a loyalist to the old regime.
"You will find new transparency clauses in section four," I told him. "Any executive found moving funds without dual authorization will be terminated and reported to the Securities and Exchange Commission within the hour. The era of shadow deals is over."
I picked up my pen. I opened the master document.
I signed my name. Minerva Hayes. I did not sign Mrs. Johnston. I did not adopt the legacy name. I carved my own identity into the foundation of the empire. I built my wealth in the dirt of the industrial district. I dragged my company into the light. No one would ever erase my work again.
"The transition is complete," I announced. I closed the binder. "Dismissed."
The executives gathered their papers. They filed out of the room in silence. They understood the new reality. The old boys' club was dead.
Ricardo stayed behind. He packed his briefcase.
"You handled them well, Mina," Ricardo said.
"They understand consequences," I replied. I stood up and walked to the floor-to-ceiling windows. The city spread out below, a vast grid of concrete and glass. "Any word from the federal agents on Celeste?"
"Nothing," Ricardo said. He snapped his briefcase shut. "It is like she vanished into thin air. The marshals are searching the shipping ports now."
"Keep me updated," I told him.
Ricardo left the boardroom. The heavy double doors clicked shut.
I stood alone in the quiet room. The adrenaline of the meeting faded. The absolute power of the Chairman seat felt natural now. I belonged in this room. I earned this view.
The lights overhead flickered.
A sharp, electronic screech tore through the air.
The digital monitors on the wall went black. The power in the room cut out, plunging the space into dim, gray shadows. The emergency backup lights failed to engage.
I reached into my pocket for my phone. The screen displayed a harsh red error message. No Signal. A mechanical grinding sound echoed from the far wall.
I turned around. The solid wood paneling near the corner of the room shifted. A hidden seam cracked open, revealing a dark, narrow maintenance tunnel. Alexander Johnston built secret passages decades ago to move cash out of the building. I thought they were sealed.
A figure stepped out of the dark gap.
She wore a stolen security uniform, several sizes too big. Her blonde hair hung in dirty, matted tangles around her face. Her eyes were wide, burning with a frantic, feverish light.
Celeste Whitmore raised her right hand. The metal barrel of a gun caught the dim light from the window.
"Hello, sister," Celeste whispered.