Chapter 203 Sending My Husband to War
"Burn the drafted press release," I ordered. "Draft a new one. Tell the media I am Thomas Whitmore’s daughter. Then remind them I put the man in a maximum-security cage. Let the investors digest the fact that I lock up my own blood when they cross me."
Ricardo stopped typing. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. "Mina, confirming the DNA leak is corporate suicide."
"Denying a verified medical document is weakness," I countered. "Julian wants me to hide behind lawyers. He expects panic. We give him ice. We own the narrative before the market opens tomorrow."
Tristan stood by the floor-to-ceiling window. He watched the city lights bleed into the dark sky. The tension in his broad shoulders pulled the fabric of his shirt tight. We spent the last twelve hours fighting the fallout of Julian’s public declaration. The stock bled. The board prepared a vote of no confidence.
Tristan reached into his pocket. He pulled out a heavy, encrypted satellite phone. It was not his standard device. He kept this phone powered off, locked in a secure safe, meant for a single contact.
He stared at the screen. The color drained from his face. The ruthless, untouchable billionaire vanished, replaced by a man looking at a ghost.
"What is it?" I asked. I stepped away from the table.
"The devil is collecting his debts," Tristan said. He tossed the heavy device onto the glass table. It slid and hit Ricardo’s coffee mug with a dull clink.
I looked down at the screen. It displayed a single text message from an untraceable alphanumeric relay.
The rook is trapped on a black square. The board is burning.
"That is a chess cipher," I noted. My chest tightened. I knew the code. We used it years ago during the hostile takeover of a rival tech firm.
"It is Alexander," Tristan confirmed.
The name sucked the remaining oxygen from the room.
Alexander Redford. Tristan’s closest ally. The man who intercepted a federal transport van and put a bullet in Benedict Holloway’s head to ensure the secret of my DNA never reached a courtroom. He traded his life for my empire.
"Where is he?" I asked.
Tristan walked to the terminal. He pushed Ricardo out of the chair.
"A mountain safehouse in Colombia," Tristan said. His fingers flew across the keys. "I set the location up for him three months ago. Built a fortress in the jungle. Only three people possess the coordinates. Me. Alexander. And the broker who facilitated the land purchase."
"Julian found the broker," I concluded. The puzzle pieces snapped together, forming a picture of absolute dread.
"Julian bought the broker," Tristan corrected. A map appeared on the monitor. A red dot blinked over a dense, mountainous region. "The signal means a hostile force breached the outer perimeter. Alexander is pinned down."
I stared at the blinking red dot. Julian Whitmore was not just fighting a corporate war. He was tying up loose ends. He knew Alexander possessed the truth about Holloway’s execution. If Julian captured Alexander alive, he could force a confession. He could prove Tristan ordered a murder.
"Julian does not want him dead," I said. The realization hit me like a physical blow. "Julian wants him in a federal courtroom. He wants Alexander to testify against us. It destroys the company, and it puts you in a cell for the rest of your life."
"Alexander will never testify against me," Tristan stated. "He is a ghost. If armed men breach his house, he will assume they belong to the authorities or a rival cartel. He will fight until he runs out of ammunition, and then he will put a bullet in his own brain to protect our secrets."
"Send a team," I ordered. I looked at Ricardo. "Contact Diego. Hire the best private military contractors on the continent. Send them to those coordinates."
"No," Tristan said. He stepped away from the monitor. "Alexander will not surrender to an unknown extraction team. He trusts no one. If an unmarked chopper lands on his lawn, he will shoot it out of the sky. He expects betrayal from every shadow."
"Then how do we pull him out?" I demanded.
Tristan reached out and picked the satellite phone off the glass table. He gripped the device until his knuckles turned white.
"I go," Tristan said.
"You cannot leave the capital," I said. My voice trembled. I hated the sound. I hated the fear bleeding into the room. "The board is staging a coup. Julian filed a federal injunction to steal my shares. Marcus is bleeding in a hospital bed. You cannot leave me alone."
"I am not leaving you alone," Tristan argued. He closed the distance between us. He framed my face with his large hands. His skin felt rough and warm. "You have Ricardo. You have Diego. You have the intellect to shred Julian in that courtroom. You do not need me to win a legal battle."
"I need you to stand beside me!" I shouted. I grabbed his wrists. I refused to let go. "We swore an oath. We fight the war together. If you fly to Colombia, you walk into a war zone. Julian sent mercenaries. They will kill you."
"I survived worse than mercenaries," Tristan swore.
"You promised me no more secrets!" I reminded him. The argument from the night before echoed in my skull. "You promised we share the dirt. You cannot fly to a jungle and leave me to fight your ghost."
"Mina, listen to me," Tristan pleaded. He pressed his forehead against mine. His chest he heave. "Alexander pulled the trigger on a man to save your crown. He abandoned his life. He lives in exile because he chose our family over his freedom. I owe him his life."
I closed my eyes. The tears burned, but I forced them back. I swallowed the terror clawing at my throat.
"How much time do you need?" I asked. The words cost me everything.
Tristan let out a harsh, jagged breath. The relief mixed with a profound, breaking sorrow. He kissed my forehead, a desperate, heavy press of his lips against my skin.
"Twenty-four hours," Tristan promised. He pulled back. His eyes locked onto mine, fierce and unyielding. "I take a private jet. I pull him out of the jungle. I cross the border, and I fly back. I will be standing behind you before Julian steps foot in that courtroom."
"Diego goes with you," I dictated. I released his wrists. I stepped back, severing the physical contact. I needed distance to maintain my composure. "You take a full tactical team. You do not go into the brush alone."
"Understood," Tristan agreed.
"If you do not return in twenty-four hours," I warned, my voice hardening into steel, "I will burn this entire city down, and I will hunt Julian Whitmore myself."