Chapter 170
Chapter 170
"The last thing mentor would ever want is those blueprints falling into criminal hands."
Arabella met his gaze, her tone calm but unyielding.
"I have to be there to stop it. Besides, Hawk knows your face. I can stay hidden with the backup team. He won't see me."
Cornelius was silent for several seconds, weighing it. Finally, he let out a reluctant sigh of concession.
"You can go. But you follow orders. If anything goes sideways, you pull out immediately."
Arabella nodded, her answer already prepared. "Deal."
Only then did Cornelius nod, satisfied. He pulled out his phone and began making calls to coordinate the next day's deployment—not noticing the flash of fierce resolve that crossed Arabella's eyes the moment she looked away.
The call connected quickly. He arranged plainclothes officers around the dock's perimeter and positioned snipers at several elevated vantage points within the dock itself.
He would carry the forged travel pass and show up at the appointed time.
When everything was in place, he set the phone down and looked at Arabella. "Tomorrow, we end this."
---
The next day, 3 PM. The abandoned docks, Amber District.
The afternoon sun baked the concrete, and the air hung thick with the smell of rusted iron and salt water.
Derelict shipping containers lined the dock, their paint peeling away to expose brown streaks of corrosion beneath.
Cornelius's car stopped at the dock entrance. He stepped out in a dark jacket, a document envelope in hand, and walked forward along the pier alone.
His pace was measured. His eyes swept the surroundings with quiet precision, cataloging every potential hiding spot, every possible escape route.
He reached the open clearing at the center of the dock and stopped.
Hawk emerged from behind an abandoned container.
He wore a black coat, an identical sealed envelope in his hand. Two heavyset men flanked him, their eyes scanning the perimeter with sharp vigilance.
"Mr. Douglas. Punctual as always."
Hawk stopped about sixteen feet away, a half-smile playing at the corner of his mouth.
"Did you bring what I asked for?"
Cornelius held up his envelope. "Travel pass is right here. Where's mine?"
Hawk raised his own envelope. "Blueprints are right here."
They locked eyes for several seconds. The air between them hummed with tension.
"Simultaneous exchange," Cornelius said.
"Fine."
Something flickered in Hawk's gaze.
"You walk toward me, I walk toward you. We swap in the middle."
Cornelius didn't object. Both men stepped forward at the same time.
Just as they were about to exchange envelopes, Hawk stopped abruptly. His gaze shifted past Cornelius's shoulder to something behind him.
"Mr. Douglas, you didn't come alone, did you?"
Cornelius's expression didn't change. "I came alone. As agreed."
Hawk let out a cold laugh. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicked it open with a sharp snap, and held the flame near his envelope.
"I'd advise you not to play games with me, Mr. Douglas. If I sense anything off, these blueprints become ash in ten seconds."
Cornelius's gaze darkened slightly, but he didn't move.
Then a voice came from behind one of the containers. "Go ahead and burn them, Hawk."
Arabella stepped into view, stopping about twenty feet from Hawk. Her eyes were steady, her voice level.
"Those blueprints—I scanned and archived them a long time ago. All you'd be burning is paper. The real drawings have already been donated to the National Institute of Architectural Sciences."
"What you're holding is worthless now."
Hawk's pupils contracted. He stared at Arabella, a muscle twitching in his jaw. "You're bluffing."
"I'm not."
Arabella's tone remained perfectly calm.
"I'm simply a better player than you. You thought you could leverage those blueprints for a way out of the country?"
"You're naive. From the day you tried to have me kidnapped, you had no way out."
As her words landed, Hawk's face contorted. He lunged the lighter flame toward the edge of the envelope like a man possessed. The paper began to curl and blacken.
"Then I'll burn it right now! Nobody gets it!"
Just as the flame was about to catch the paper fully, Arabella spoke again.
"The last words your father said before he died were, 'I failed him.'"
Hawk's hand froze.
He looked up at Arabella. Something complex and unnameable churned in his eyes. "What did you say?"
"Your father's last words were, 'I failed him.'"
Arabella repeated it, her voice neither loud nor soft, every word distinct.
"I wondered for years who the 'him' was. Now I know. He meant you."
"He died full of regret—regret that he hadn't raised you right, that he hadn't pulled you back before you went down this path."
"He never hated you. Not once. He hated himself."
The lighter trembled in Hawk's hand. His gaze went distant for a split second, as if those words had dragged him back to some far-off memory he'd spent years refusing to touch.
In that fraction of a second, Arabella lunged.
She grabbed the edge of the envelope and wrenched it toward herself.
Hawk snapped back to reality and clutched the other end instinctively. They both pulled. The envelope tore open with a rip.
Several yellowed pages slid out, scattering through the air and drifting down onto the dusty concrete.
"Grab her!"
Hawk's roar split the air.
His two men charged at Arabella instantly.
She bent down, snatched two of the fallen pages, and ran—but she'd barely gone a few steps before one of the men caught her arm and yanked her back.
She lost her balance and crashed to the ground. Her knee struck the concrete with a sickening crack. Pain shot through her like a blade.
Hawk walked over and stood above her, looking down with eyes full of unhinged hatred.
He bent and gathered the scattered blueprint fragments, then picked up a rust-covered iron pipe from the ground nearby. He hefted it, testing its weight.
"You're just like your mentor. Too stupid to know when to stop."
His voice was low and raw, fury compressed to its breaking point.
"He deserved to die. And so do you."
He raised the pipe, aimed at Arabella's head, and brought it down—