She Was Only Investigating A Billion-Dollar Fraud — Until The Most Dangerous Man In Chicago Forced Her Into A Fake Engagement To Save Her Sister.

PART 2

His fingers pressed a warning into my side. I forced a breathless laugh. “Not exactly.” The room laughed with me, thinking I was overwhelmed by romance. I was calculating how fast I could reach Ruby’s apartment through the service corridor.

He took my left hand. Cool metal slid over my finger — a square-cut diamond ringed with smaller stones, scattering camera flashes across the walls. Applause rose.

He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. “Stay beside me. Do not run. Do not call her. You’ll understand in the car.”

I turned my smile to him. “If Ruby is hurt, I will destroy everything you own.”

His eyes darkened with something almost like approval. “That,” he said quietly, “is why I chose you.”

—

The armored SUV had windows thick enough to survive gunfire. I sat against the door, dragging air into uncooperative lungs while Marcus poured scotch across from me, composed. A massive man occupied the front passenger seat, shaved head nearly touching the roof.

“You’re hyperventilating.”

“You publicly kidnapped me.”

“I walked you through a hotel.”

“You threatened my sister.”

“I protected your sister. There are four men outside her building. Two at the entrance, one in the alley, one in the apartment across from hers.” He took a slow drink. “She’s asleep on her couch. Ate half a container of sesame noodles, texted a friend about an orthopedic resident named Owen, turned on a reality show twenty-three minutes ago.”

Fear turned to fury. “You’re surveilling her?”

“I’m keeping her alive. From my uncle.”

The SUV merged onto Lake Shore Drive, Lake Michigan black beyond the glass. I pressed a hand to my stomach. “What did she see?”

“Six months ago my father collapsed in his dining room. His physician was forty minutes out. Your sister was finishing a shift nearby when one of my drivers brought her in.” Ruby had mentioned treating a wealthy patient in a mansion — no name, medical privacy. “She kept him alive until the ambulance came. She also noticed his symptoms didn’t match a heart attack.”

My mouth went dry. “What did they match?”

“Poisoning.” City lights streaked his face. “She photographed the medications for the hospital. In the corner of one photo, reflected in a glass cabinet, is the man who handed my father his final drink.”

“Everett?”

“No.”

“Who?”

“That’s what I need her to tell me.”

“Ask her.”

“I tried. She refused to speak to my men. Told them if they approached her again she’d call the police, a news station, and her most dramatic neighbor.”

A laugh nearly escaped me. That sounded exactly like Ruby.

“Three nights ago someone broke into her apartment,” he continued. “Nothing stolen. Yesterday a motorcycle followed her from the hospital. This morning a forged complaint hit the nursing board accusing her of stealing medication.”

My anger went cold. “Why didn’t she tell me?”

“Because you’ve worked fourteen-hour days for three months, and she thinks protecting you is her job.”

True, and it landed like an accusation.

“And the engagement?”

“The safest person in Chicago is a woman the whole city believes belongs to me.”

“I don’t belong to anyone.”

“I’m aware.”

“You put your hand on me without permission and announced a marriage I never agreed to.”

“Yes.”

“You threatened Ruby to force my cooperation.”

“Yes.”

His lack of excuses infuriated me more than denial would have. “You’re not the hero of this story, Marcus.”

“No. I’m the man trying to keep the villains from reaching you first.”

The SUV descended into a private garage beneath a glass tower.

“You expect me to help you.”

“I expect you to help yourself. Your signature’s on three quarterly approvals tied to Apex.”

My skin went cold. “I never approved Apex.”

“I know.”

“Then it’s forged.”

“Convincing enough for a jury.”

I thought of Ferris insisting I use his office terminal to certify the Halloran files — a system outage, a delayed code, his assistant asking me to re-enter credentials. The trap had been set before I even found the anomaly.

“Your managing partner gave you this audit believing you’d overlook the theft,” Marcus said. “When you didn’t, he decided you’d become responsible for it.”

“Ferris is working with Everett.”

“I believe so.”

“You believe?”

“I know my uncle is stealing from Halloran. I know Ferris built the shells. I don’t know who poisoned my father, where the money was headed, or why your sister’s photograph frightened them enough to come after her.”

The SUV stopped. The big man opened my door. “My head of security, Rex Cordova,” Marcus said. “He’ll take you to Ruby once we finish upstairs.”

“I’m going now.”

“You may walk out of this garage. Rex will still protect you. I won’t drag you up.” He paused. “But by morning Ferris reports you stole confidential records. Everett tells his men you have the decryption trail. Authorities see your signature on fraudulent filings. Face all three alone, or spend one hour looking at what we found tonight.”

I hated that it wasn’t really a choice. I stepped out. “Sixty minutes. Then I see Ruby.”

He offered his hand. I ignored it. His mouth twitched — first time all night. “Good. You’re learning not to let me lead.”

—

The penthouse occupied the whole top floor. I expected black marble and cold displays of wealth. Not the family photos lining one wall — Marcus as a serious child beside a laughing younger boy, Silas Kade with a hand on each son’s shoulder, a dark-haired woman on a picnic blanket, warmth in her face oddly out of place in this world.

“My mother,” he said, seeing me look. “Died when I was fifteen.”

“I’m sorry.”

His face closed. “Don’t be. Sympathy is often just curiosity.”

“Sometimes it’s just sympathy.”

Before he could answer, a groan came from the center of the room. A man knelt on plastic sheeting, lip split, one eye swollen, two guards holding his arms.

“No,” I said.

“Mateo Reyes. Managed courier payments for Everett.”

“I said no.”

“He has the second half of the decryption key.”

“You beat it out of him?”

“I questioned him.”

“With a fist?”

Rex cleared his throat. “He resisted transportation.”

“You kidnapped him.”

Mateo spat blood. “Don’t act innocent, lady. You think the Kades built shipping terminals with kindness?”

I turned on Marcus. “I will not help you torture someone.”

“If you open the accounts, there’s no reason to touch him again.”

“And if I refuse?”

“I find another way.”

Mateo laughed painfully. “Look at her, Kade. Shaking so hard her dress is moving. That’s your queen? Some frightened fat accountant?”

The insult shouldn’t have mattered. I’d heard worse in school hallways, office kitchens, dates arranged by friends who called men “open-minded.” But I was tired — tired of men measuring my courage by my body, tired of lowering my voice, tired of apologizing when my hips brushed a chair.

I held my hand out to Rex. “Laptop.”

I set it on the dining table instead of kneeling by Mateo. “Mateo Reyes. Thirty-nine. Divorced. Three daughters.” His expression changed. “Your ex-wife lives in a six-unit building on Ravenswood. You own it through Reyes Residential Holdings. Mortgage paid off eighteen months ago with Apex money.”

“Leave them out of this.”

“I intend to.” I turned the screen. “Everett doesn’t.” A lien sat against the property, filed by another shell tied to Everett. “He borrowed against the building six weeks ago. If Apex collapses, the creditor seizes your daughters’ home.”

“He promised they were protected.”

“He lied.” I found tuition payments for his oldest, Isabel, and a scheduled reversal. “Her tuition gets recalled Monday morning.”

“No.”

“Everett arranged it.”

Mateo looked at Marcus. “You did this?”

“I knew nothing about the building.” I believed him — not because he seemed honest, but because his fury was too immediate to fake.

I moved closer to Mateo. “I don’t want your daughters harmed. I’ll put the building into a protected trust tonight. Marcus signs away any Kade claim.”

“That property was purchased with stolen money,” Marcus said.

“Then call it restitution.”

“This isn’t a negotiation.”

“It became one when you brought an auditor into the room.” Rex made a sound like a hidden cough. I looked at Marcus. “If you want my help, nobody threatens children. Nobody burns their home. You protect Mateo’s family, and he gives us the key voluntarily.”

“You believe you can command terms in my home?” he asked.

“You told the entire city I was going to be your wife. What kind of man announces a queen and refuses to hear her?”

Silence. Dante — no, Rex looked at the floor. Marcus held my eyes for several seconds.

“Prepare the trust.”

I exhaled. The transfer needed his biometric confirmation; he put his thumb to the scanner without complaint. Mateo watched his daughters’ building move beyond Everett’s reach.

“Now,” I said, “the remaining key.”

Mateo whispered a string of characters. Rex entered it. The Cayman ledger opened — hundreds of transactions. Marcus leaned over my shoulder, chest nearly touching my back, hands still at his sides.

“Four point two million,” he said.

“Only the visible balance.” I scrolled — twelve hidden subsidiary ledgers, nearly $38 million total.

Rex swore. Marcus went still.

I traced it backward through freight companies, consulting firms, real estate. The money hadn’t just been stolen. It had financed something — private security contractors, political consultants, dozens of initials, weapons purchases, bonuses to supervisors willing to shut down terminals on command.

Everett wasn’t preparing to steal Marcus’s empire. He was preparing to paralyze it.

Then a separate series of payments — a private clinic in Wisconsin, under the name C. Vance.

“Who is C. Vance?”

Marcus’s face hardened. “My father sometimes traveled under that name.”

The payments started two months before Silas’s collapse. Someone buying medication. Not cardiac medication — a drug used in small doses for rhythm disorders. In larger doses, it stops the heart.

Digitalis.

My hands went cold. “Ruby was right. Your father was poisoned.”