Chapter 10 - Thirty-Two Days
Thirty-two days after Harper Davis stepped into Victor Gallow's private elevator, Victor woke beside her.
For several seconds, he simply watched her sleep.
It was 5:43 a.m.
Rain tapped lightly against the penthouse windows.
Harper's glasses sat on the nightstand.
Her hair had fallen across Victor's pillow.
One hand rested against his chest.
Thirty-two days.
Victor had spent eleven years making certain no enemy could find anything he loved enough to use against him.
Thirty-two days had undone all of it.
Harper opened one eye.
“Creepy.”
Victor didn't move.
“You were staring.”
“You were awake.”
“I became awake because a terrifying billionaire was staring at me.”
“Go back to sleep.”
“What time is it?”
“Early.”
“That means something horrifying in Victor language.”
“Five forty-three.”
Harper groaned and buried her face against him.
Victor almost smiled.
They had spent the previous three weeks dismantling every hidden access point in Gallow Tower.
The stolen flash drive had led Vane to floor forty-two.
But not to a precise location.
Victor's father had hidden the ledger somewhere inside the executive level.
They had searched walls.
Furniture.
Safes.
Ventilation systems.
Nothing.
Meanwhile, Samuel Beckett remained missing.
Daniel Mercer vanished.
Richard Hale disappeared again.
Malcolm Vane went silent.
Silence made Victor nervous.
Harper felt him tense beneath her.
“You're thinking.”
“I do that.”
“Too loudly.”
Victor looked down.
She rested her chin against his chest.
“We're going to find it.”
“The ledger?”
“Everything.”
Victor brushed hair from her face.
“And if we don't?”
Harper smiled faintly.
“Then we'll improvise.”
“You rely too much on improvisation.”
“And you rely too much on control.”
“It works.”
“Has the last month looked controlled to you?”
Victor didn't answer.
Harper kissed his cheek.
“Point for me.”
At 8:13 they entered the private elevator together.
Arthur stood beside them.
Harper carried coffee.
Victor looked at the cup.
“Different shop?”
“Yes.”
“Better?”
She drank.
Grimaced.
“No.”
Arthur sighed.
“Thirty-two days and you still haven't found acceptable coffee?”
Harper looked offended.
“It is a difficult city.”
The elevator reached fourteen.
Harper didn't exit.
Victor looked at her.
“Aren't you working?”
“BrightLine gave us the day off.”
“Why?”
Harper smiled.
“Because someone purchased the company.”
Victor stared forward.
Arthur suddenly found the control panel fascinating.
Harper narrowed her eyes.
“Victor.”
“Yes?”
“You bought BrightLine.”
“No.”
“Arthur.”
Arthur cleared his throat.
“Technically Gallow Holdings acquired its parent company.”
Harper turned slowly toward Victor.
“You bought the company.”
“The parent company.”
“Why?”
Victor remained calm.
“The parent organization had poor security practices.”
“You bought an entire advertising company because I worked there.”
“Not exactly.”
“How much?”
Victor said nothing.
“Victor.”
“Forty-eight million.”
Harper nearly dropped her coffee.
Arthur stepped sideways.
“Forty-eight million dollars?”
“It included other assets.”
“That's not helping!”
Victor's phone vibrated.
His face changed.
Harper immediately stopped.
“What?”
Arthur checked his own phone.
“Power interruption at South Yard.”
Victor frowned.
“Why do we still have operations there?”
“We don't.”
Arthur showed him.
A private power grid connected to the abandoned yard had suddenly activated.
Victor's old freight network.
Route Seventeen.
He pressed forty-two.
“We're going.”
Harper folded her arms.
“So am I.”
Victor looked at her.
Thirty-two days earlier, he would have ordered her to stay.
Now he had learned.
“You stay with Arthur.”
“Acceptable.”
Arthur sighed.
“I don't remember volunteering.”
The South Yard looked deserted when they arrived shortly after noon.
No vehicles.
No workers.
No movement.
Victor's team entered first.
Harper remained near Arthur.
Then every phone simultaneously lost service.
Arthur's expression changed.
“Victor.”
Victor turned.
A freight alarm sounded.
Metal gates slammed shut around the yard.
Their security vehicles were trapped outside.
Victor grabbed Harper.
Arthur drew his weapon.
Speakers activated.
Malcolm Vane's voice.
“Thirty-two days.”
Victor looked upward.
Vane laughed.
“That's all it took.”
Harper's stomach tightened.
“Eleven years of discipline,” Vane continued. “Thirty-two days to make you predictable.”
Victor's hand tightened around Harper's.
A door opened across the yard.
Richard Hale appeared.
Daniel Mercer stood beside him.
And between them—
Samuel Beckett.
Arthur froze.
“Dad?”
Samuel looked at his son.
“I'm sorry.”
Arthur took one step forward.
Then armed men appeared around the upper walkway.
Victor counted.
Too many.
Vane stepped from the warehouse.
Older than his photographs.
Silver hair.
Dark coat.
Calm smile.
He looked directly at Victor.
“Welcome to Route Seventeen.”
Victor's voice was cold.
“Let them leave.”
Vane smiled.
“Arthur can.”
Arthur looked at him.
Vane continued.
“Harper stays.”
Victor stepped in front of her.
“No.”
Vane seemed almost delighted.
“There it is.”
“What?”
“The thing your father said you'd never have.”
Vane raised a pistol.
Not toward Harper.
Toward Victor.
He walked slowly across the concrete until the barrel rested against Victor's chest.
Harper stopped breathing.
Arthur raised his weapon.
Six rifles immediately aimed at him.
Vane looked into Victor's eyes.
“I spent years trying to take your father's empire.”
Victor didn't move.
Vane smiled.
“But you built me something better.”
“What?”
Vane looked toward Harper.
“A reason for you to surrender it willingly.”
He pressed the gun harder against Victor's heart.
“Everything you've built.”
Victor's face remained calm.
Vane spoke softly.
“Or Harper dies.”
And exactly thirty-two days after a scuffed white sneaker stopped the doors of his private elevator, Victor Gallow found himself facing the choice his father had warned him never to create.
His empire.
May you like
Or the woman he loved.
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