Chapter 8 - THE SECRETARY WHO STOPPED BEING AFRAID
Khloe woke inside Warehouse C.
Her wrists were tied.
A single industrial light buzzed overhead.
Judge Samuel Holloway sat across from her.
He looked nothing like a criminal mastermind.
That disturbed her most.
He looked like someone's grandfather.
Silver hair.
Tailored navy suit.
Calm blue eyes.
“You caused remarkable trouble,” he said.
Khloe swallowed.
“I get that frequently.”
“No, you don't.”
“Fair.”
Holloway smiled faintly.
“I understand what Vincent sees in you.”
Khloe said nothing.
“He believes you can save him.”
“I don't think he needs saving.”
“Everyone needs saving.”
Holloway leaned forward.
“Vincent's father understood that too late.”
Khloe's heart accelerated.
“You killed him.”
“I corrected a business problem.”
Khloe felt sick.
But she remembered something Vincent had once said during a staff meeting.
When frightened, listen.
People reveal themselves when they believe they have control.
So Khloe listened.
Holloway talked.
He had built the laundering network fifteen years earlier.
Antonio Costa discovered Holloway was using Costa shipping routes to move money without authorization.
Antonio threatened to expose him.
Holloway arranged the death.
Daniel became his replacement inside Costa Logistics.
Paulie handled minor problems.
Khloe had become one.
“Why didn't Paulie kill me months ago?”
“He wasn't certain what you saw.”
Holloway smiled.
“Then you drew the ring.”
Khloe understood.
Someone had searched her desk.
Found the sketchbook.
Seen the crest.
“Paulie saw my drawing.”
“Yes.”
“And that's when you decided I had to die.”
“Unfortunately.”
Khloe's fear changed.
It became anger.
“You murdered Vincent's father to protect money?”
Holloway sighed.
“People always say ‘money’ as though money were merely paper.”
He stood.
“Money is judges. Elections. Police departments. Newspapers. Money is reality.”
Khloe looked at him.
“No.”
Holloway paused.
“Money bought you people who pretended to respect you.”
His expression cooled.
“It didn't buy you one person willing to protect you when everything collapsed.”
For the first time, she saw anger.
Good.
Khloe continued.
“Daniel betrayed you.”
“He failed.”
“Your prosecutor betrayed you too.”
Holloway stepped closer.
“And Vincent?”
Khloe met his eyes.
“He's coming.”
Holloway smiled.
“That is precisely what I want.”
He showed her the detonator.
Warehouse C was wired.
Vincent would arrive.
Then Holloway would destroy the warehouse, the ledger copies he believed were inside, and everyone with them.
Khloe looked around.
She needed time.
She shifted her bound hands.
The plastic tie cut her wrist.
Then her fingers touched something inside her coat pocket.
A pencil.
She almost laughed.
Vincent had teased her for carrying them everywhere.
Graphite pencils were useless as weapons.
But useful for other things.
Khloe slowly worked it between the plastic tie and her wrist.
Twisted.
Pressed.
The pencil snapped.
So did the weakened tie.
She kept her hands together.
Holloway never noticed.
Outside, Vincent arrived alone.
Or appeared to.
Gabriel's team moved through the surrounding containers while federal agents approached from the waterfront.
Vincent entered the warehouse.
Holloway smiled.
“Right on time.”
Khloe saw him.
Every fear vanished for one irrational second.
Vincent's eyes found hers.
He saw her hands.
Saw the broken plastic tie hidden beneath her sleeve.
He understood immediately.
“Let her go.”
Holloway raised the detonator.
“Ledger.”
Vincent placed a black book on the floor.
“Kick it.”
He did.
Holloway bent to retrieve it.
Khloe moved.
She slammed the metal chair backward into Holloway's knees.
He fell.
Vincent crossed the distance.
The detonator skidded across concrete.
A gunshot exploded.
Khloe screamed.
Vincent staggered.
Blood spread across his side.
Holloway reached for the detonator.
Khloe reached first.
Gabriel's men stormed the warehouse.
Federal agents surrounded Holloway.
It was over.
Except Vincent was on the floor.
Khloe dropped beside him.
“No.”
His eyes remained open.
“It's not as bad as it looks.”
“You're bleeding through your shirt!”
“I own other shirts.”
She laughed and sobbed simultaneously.
Paramedics rushed toward them.
Khloe gripped his hand.
“You promised.”
“I came back.”
“This doesn't count.”
His mouth curved weakly.
“You're very demanding for someone who technically resigned.”
“I did not resign.”
“Then I'm firing you.”
Khloe stared.
“What?”
His eyes closed.
“Conflict of interest.”
“Vincent!”
The paramedics pushed her aside.
For six hours, Khloe sat outside surgery.
At 4:17 a.m., a doctor finally approached.
“He's stable.”
Khloe's knees nearly failed.
When Vincent woke later that morning, the first thing he saw was Khloe asleep beside his hospital bed.
Her cheek rested on folded arms.
Her hand still held his.
Vincent looked at her.
Then at the thin hospital blanket covering her shoulders.
With his free hand, he carefully pulled it higher.
Khloe stirred.
Opened her eyes.
Saw him awake.
“You're alive.”
“So it appears.”
She started crying.
Vincent panicked more visibly than he had during the shooting.
“Why are you crying?”
“Because you're an idiot.”
“That's reassuring.”
She laughed through tears.
Then kissed him.
It was brief.
Soft.
Completely unplanned.
When she pulled back, Vincent stared at her.
Khloe's eyes widened.
“I shouldn't have—”
Vincent caught the back of her neck gently.
“Khloe.”
“Yes?”
May you like
“You talk too much when you're nervous.”
Then he kissed her again.
