Chapter 216 Making Deals With The Devil
She wanted to survive the machine. We both did. We just picked different weapons.
"Where is the ledger?" I asked. I cut through the excuses.
"I kept a digital copy," Celeste said. She leaned closer, lowering her voice. "Every routing number. Every IP address. Every transaction from Thomas Whitmore’s offshore account to the syndicate leaders. I put it on an encrypted flash drive."
"Where is it?" I repeated.
Celeste shook her head. Her matted hair clung to her cheek.
"Get me out of here first," Celeste demanded. A desperate, fractured edge of the old Whitmore pride flared in her eyes. "I want a transfer. Move me to Allenwood. Minimum security. Private cell. Julian cannot reach the guards there. You own half the politicians in this city. Make the call. Get me out of this hell, and I will give you the location of the drive."
I stared at her.
She held the final piece of the trap. The drive contained the absolute proof needed to tie Julian to the criminal underworld. It was the weapon I needed to spring the checkmate at the shareholder meeting.
"You want me to save you," I said.
"I want a deal," Celeste corrected.
I looked at the chains on her wrists. I looked at the bruise on her face. Thomas Whitmore built us to destroy each other. He put us in a ring and waited for the bloodletting. I hated her. She represented every cold, cruel night I spent in Port Sterling. She represented the elite class that treated me like dirt.
But watching her break in a concrete cage did not bring me joy. It brought a hollow, sickening realization.
We were both just pawns on Thomas's board.
I placed the receiver back on the hook.
Celeste panicked. She slammed her chained hands against the reinforced glass.
"Minerva!" she screamed, her voice muffled through the thick barrier. "Do not leave me here! He will kill me!"
I turned to Tristan. He stepped out of the shadows. He read the conflict in my eyes. He saw the Chairman calculating the risk, and he saw the woman wrestling with her conscience.
"She funded the syndicate," Tristan reminded me. His tone held no sympathy. "She helped buy the bullets that hit Marcus."
"She is my sister," I whispered.
The words tasted strange. I never claimed the title out loud. But the blood existed. It tied us together in the dirt.
"If I leave her in this cage to die, I am no better than Thomas," I told him. "I am just another predator feeding the machine."
Tristan looked at me. The harsh lines of his face softened. The warlord retreated, leaving the man who loved the woman standing before him. He reached out and touched my arm.
"You are nothing like Thomas," Tristan swore. "You build. He destroys. If you want to make the deal, make the deal. I will handle the politicians."
I turned back to the glass. I picked up the receiver.
Celeste pressed the black plastic to her ear. She gasped for air, her chest heaving under the orange fabric.
"I will arrange the transfer," I stated. My voice held the absolute authority of the Johnston empire. "You will go to Allenwood tonight. You will have a private cell. You will be safe."
Celeste closed her eyes. A sob of pure, unadulterated relief broke from her throat.
"Where is the drive, Celeste?" I demanded.
She opened her eyes. "The central train station. Lockbox four-two-seven. The passcode is my mother's birthday. The drive is taped to the bottom of the metal tray."
I memorized the details. I did not write them down.
"If the box is empty, I will send you back to this room," I promised.
"It is there," Celeste swore. "Take it. Burn Julian to the ground."
"I plan to."
I hung the receiver up. I stood up from the metal chair. I did not offer a goodbye. The transaction was complete.
I walked out of the visitation room. Tristan followed me into the fluorescent hallway. The heavy steel door locked shut, sealing my sister away.
We walked through the security checkpoints in silence. The guards handed me my phone and my coat. We pushed through the front doors of the supermax and stepped back into the rain.
The cold wind whipped across the parking lot. I pulled the lapels of my trench coat tight against my chest. The exhaustion of the last few days settled deep in my bones.
Tristan stepped behind me. He wrapped his arms around me, pulling my back against his chest. He opened his large overcoat, shielding me from the rain and the wind. His heat seeped through my clothes, melting the chill of the prison.
"Did you get the keys to his coffin?" Tristan asked, his lips brushing the top of my head.
"I got the ledger," I confirmed. I leaned into his embrace. The smell of his cologne anchored me. "Celeste gave up the lockbox."
"I will send Diego to the train station right now," Tristan said. "He will secure the drive."
I turned around in his arms. I looked up at his face. The rain caught in his dark hair.
"Tomorrow is the shareholder meeting," I said.
"Julian thinks he holds the crown," Tristan replied. A dark, terrifying smile curved his mouth. "He thinks you surrendered."
"Let him put the crown on his head," I whispered. I reached up and ran my fingers over the collar of his shirt. "I want him to feel the weight of it before I execute him in front of the board.”