Alex stared at the photo of his mother long after the envelope had hit the floor.
She was smiling. Just a regular day. No idea she'd been followed. Watched.
Threatened—because of him.
He felt sick.
The room around him seemed smaller, heavier. Even the air felt like it was holding its breath.
This wasn't just corporate warfare anymore.
Marcus had crossed a line.
And Alex wasn't going to let him do it again.
He picked up the photo, slid it back into the envelope with shaking hands, then made a silent promise:
You go after her again, and I'll burn everything you've built to the ground.
He didn't sleep.
At sunrise, Alex called a meeting—but not with Elizabeth, not with Lana, not even with Callum.
He called Ava Monroe.
She showed up at the estate in black boots, hair tied back, eyes sharp. She didn't ask questions when he handed her the envelope. She didn't speak until she'd seen the photo and read the note.
Then she looked up at him.
"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"
Alex didn't blink. "Figuratively."
Ava raised an eyebrow. "Only figuratively?"
He ran a hand down his face. "He crossed a line. I need to hit back. Hard. But I need help."
Ava leaned against the desk. "Why me?"
"Because I know you've wanted Marcus out for a long time."
She didn't deny it.
"Because you're smart, connected, and you know how to play the game," Alex continued. "Because you've seen what he's capable of—and I think you hate him just as much as I do."
Ava's eyes met his, steady. "You're not wrong."
"Then help me."
A pause.
Then she nodded once.
"I'm in."
They began the plan that night, away from the estate, in a quiet café Alex had once worked near during his delivery days. It felt poetic, in a way—plotting revenge from the place he used to sweep floors and serve lattes.
Ava brought her laptop, already pulling files from company logs and private sources.
"Marcus doesn't just want Dawson," she explained. "He wants a legacy. But more than that, he wants leverage. Which means—somewhere—he's keeping records of who he's working with. Emails. Off-book payments. Something."
"Where?"
"He's careful. Keeps his laptop encrypted. But he has a secondary system—something he thinks no one knows about. A secure server in his penthouse suite. It's hidden behind a fake wine cellar."
Alex stared. "You've been there?"
Ava nodded. "Once. Months ago. He thought I wasn't paying attention."
Alex leaned in. "Can you get back in?"
She smirked. "I never left empty-handed."
From her jacket, she pulled out a small silver key.
"I made a copy."
Alex exhaled slowly.
He wasn't sure if he was terrified of her—or deeply impressed.
Maybe both.
The next step was getting inside Marcus's building.
It wasn't simple.
The penthouse was on the 48th floor of a luxury tower. Security guards at the entrance. Biometric locks. Surveillance on every floor.
But Marcus had one weakness.
Routine.
He had a standing dinner reservation every Thursday night at 7:30 p.m. Sharp.
He went alone. Took the same car. Ordered the same wine.
While he sipped Merlot and pretended to be a king, Ava and Alex would slip in and find the real crown: his secrets.
Thursday arrived faster than Alex expected.
He and Ava stood across the street from Marcus's building in plain clothes. Alex wore a baseball cap and hoodie. Ava had her hair tucked up under a wool beanie, her coat oversized to hide her figure.
"You sure about this?" she asked.
He nodded. "If we're going to take him down, we need proof."
At exactly 7:32 p.m., Marcus stepped out of the building and into his car.
Alex and Ava crossed the street seconds later.
Ava flashed a fake badge at the front desk guard, said something about water damage in one of the upper-floor units. The guard barely glanced at them before letting them through.
The elevator ride up was silent.
Alex's heart pounded the higher they went.
When the doors opened onto the 48th floor, it was like stepping into another world—sleek marble floors, gold fixtures, tall ceilings. And at the end of the hall, Marcus's double doors.
Ava picked the lock with practiced ease, then slid the silver key into the hidden panel behind the wine rack. A soft beep sounded, and the fake wall slid open to reveal a staircase leading down.
Alex exhaled. "He really did build a secret vault."
"Welcome to the upper class," Ava muttered.
Downstairs was a private server room—low lit, cold, quiet. And on the far wall: a glass cabinet with hard drives labeled in Marcus's own handwriting.
Ava plugged in her laptop, connected to the system, and began copying files.
"What are we looking for?" Alex asked.
"Anything dirty. Proof of offshore accounts. Meetings with Winslow & Tarkin. Anything that links him to the takeover attempt."
Files flew by on screen—emails, signed contracts, flight receipts, even a photo of Marcus shaking hands with a man Alex recognized from a recent financial scandal.
Jackpot.
Ava burned everything onto a secure drive, then wiped their digital fingerprints clean.
They left the penthouse exactly 27 minutes after they entered.
By the time Marcus returned, the only thing out of place was one slightly smudged wine bottle.
Back at the estate, Alex and Ava sat in the study with the drive between them.
He opened the files slowly, carefully.
One folder was labeled simply: "Plan B."
Inside were documents outlining the dismantling of Dawson Holdings—divided by region, department, and resale value.
He would've sold it all.
Years of legacy, thousands of jobs—just to prove a point.
Alex stared at the screen, something cold settling behind his ribs.
"He was going to destroy everything."
Ava nodded. "And now… he won't get the chance."
Alex looked up at her.
"What do we do with this?"
She tilted her head. "The question is—how clean do you want this to be?"
Alex didn't answer right away.
He thought about his mother.
About the photo.
The threat.
The fire in his chest flared again—but it wasn't anger anymore.
It was purpose.
"We're going public," he said. "Full press. A recorded statement. And the files."
"High risk."
"But high reward."
Ava smiled.
"You really are starting to sound like him."
"No," Alex said, standing. "I'm nothing like Marcus."
She watched him for a moment.
Then added softly, "Let's make sure the world sees that."
The next day, Alex released a statement to the press.
He stood on the same stage where he'd once been introduced as the lost heir.
This time, he wasn't shaking.
He laid out the facts. Calmly. Clearly.
Told the world about Marcus's actions.
The betrayal.
The plot.
The near destruction of Dawson Holdings.
Then he shared the documents—uncensored.
The media exploded.
Shareholders rallied.
By nightfall, Marcus's name was trending across every news outlet in the country.
Disgraced.
Exposed.
Finished.
But just as Alex started to breathe again, Lana entered his office with a pale face and a shaking phone in her hand.
"There's something you need to see."
She handed it to him.
It was a video.
Grainy. From a security cam.
It showed a man slipping into a dim stairwell, wearing a black hoodie and gloves.
The timestamp was from the night before the press release.
The location?
His mother's apartment building.
And this time…
She wasn't in the picture.
She was gone.