Terms of War
They didn't sleep.
Not really.
By 2:13 a.m., the penthouse lights were still on.
The second file lay open on Alexander's tablet — a board meeting transcript dated four years ago. The night Thomas Carter Technologies was liquidated.
Signed by:
Daniel Cross.Jonathan Reed.
Evelyn stood near the kitchen island, arms crossed tightly, reading the transcript for the third time.
The language was clinical.
"Asset absorption.""Strategic reallocation.""Risk neutralization."
Her father had been reduced to bullet points.
Alexander leaned against the opposite counter, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled up.
Less CEO.
More man.
"They fast-tracked the liquidation," he said quietly. "Seven days from review to execution. That's abnormal."
Evelyn didn't look at him.
"My father said he was negotiating a partnership."
"This wasn't a partnership," Alexander replied. "It was containment."
The word chilled her.
"Containment of what?"
He tapped the screen, scrolling.
"There's a redacted section here. See this?" He turned the tablet toward her.
A paragraph blacked out entirely.
"Why redact internal minutes?" she asked.
"Because whatever was discussed wasn't meant for shareholders."
Or investigators.
Or daughters.
Silence stretched between them.
This was no longer about revenge.
This was about truth.
Alexander straightened slowly.
"We have a problem."
"Daniel," she said.
"Yes. And whoever is sending these files."
"You think it's him?"
"No."
His answer was immediate.
"Why?"
"Daniel wouldn't destabilize the board anonymously. He prefers control in plain sight."
She studied him.
"You're certain."
"I've worked with him for eight years."
"And you trust him?"
"No."
The honesty hit differently this time.
"Then why keep him?"
"Because until now, I didn't have proof."
Her heartbeat steadied.
That was the shift.
Proof.
They needed it.
Alexander walked toward her, slower this time.
Measured.
"We can't confront him yet," he said. "If he suspects we're aligned, he'll bury whatever trail exists."
Aligned.
The word lingered.
"You're assuming we are," she said softly.
His eyes met hers.
"We are."
Not a question.
A decision.
She searched his face.
"You're trusting me," she said.
"You're the only person who benefits from exposing this," he replied evenly. "And the only person who has motive strong enough to risk it."
"You think revenge makes me reliable?"
"I think grief makes you dangerous."
A beat.
"And I'd rather have you dangerous on my side."
The air shifted.
Not romantic.
Strategic.
But charged.
"What's the plan?" she asked.
Alexander moved to the wall-length console and pulled up a private internal system.
"You said you wanted access."
Her pulse quickened.
"Yes."
"You're getting it."
He opened a secure login screen.
"Reed Dynamics' executive archive is segmented. Board-level decisions are encrypted under tier-four clearance."
"And you have tier four?"
"I have tier five."
He handed her the tablet.
Their fingers brushed.
Brief.
Electric.
"This access doesn't leave this room," he said quietly. "If this leaks, I lose everything."
"And if we do nothing," she replied, "someone leaks it for us."
Their eyes locked.
Mutual understanding.
War.
Alexander leaned closer, pointing to a folder.
"Daniel chaired three liquidations that quarter," he said. "All small cybersecurity firms. All absorbed. All founders disappeared from the industry within a year."
Her stomach tightened.
"Disappeared?"
"Financial ruin. Reputation damage. One filed for bankruptcy. One relocated overseas. Your father…"
She swallowed.
"Didn't survive it."
The words hung heavy.
Alexander didn't look away this time.
"I didn't know," he said quietly.
She believed him.
That scared her more than anger ever had.
"If Daniel engineered those liquidations," she said slowly, "why?"
Alexander exhaled.
"Control. Data. Silence."
She frowned. "Silence?"
"Cybersecurity firms hold sensitive information. Government contracts. Defense systems. If someone wanted proprietary access without oversight…"
"They'd absorb smaller firms and isolate the founders."
"Yes."
Her pulse spiked.
"You think my father knew something?"
"I think he might have."
Silence thickened.
Then—
Her phone buzzed.
Unknown number.
A text.
You're looking in the wrong place. Check the offshore accounts.
Alexander stepped closer.
"Show me."
She handed him the phone.
He read the message once.
Twice.
"Offshore accounts," he murmured.
"Daniel?"
"Maybe."
He walked back to the console quickly, typing commands.
Encrypted folders opened.
Financial transfers.
Shell corporations.
Layered transactions.
"Here," he said sharply.
A Cayman Islands holding company.
Authorized signatory: D. Cross.
But there was another name beneath it.
J. Reed.
Evelyn's breath stilled.
"Your father," she whispered.
Alexander's jaw tightened.
"My father retired two months after those transactions."
"Retired… or forced out?"
He didn't answer.
Because he didn't know.
The room felt heavier now.
Two fathers.
Two signatures.
One trail.
Evelyn turned to him slowly.
"If Jonathan Reed was involved—"
"Then this isn't just corporate corruption," Alexander finished. "It's family."
The word sliced deeper than anything else tonight.
"You're willing to investigate your own father?" she asked quietly.
His expression hardened.
"I'm willing to find the truth."
A long pause.
"And if it destroys Reed Dynamics?"
His gaze didn't waver.
"Then it was already rotten."
That was the moment.
The final shift.
She wasn't standing across from an enemy anymore.
She was standing beside someone who was willing to burn his own empire for answers.
Her chest tightened unexpectedly.
"This alliance," she said softly. "It stays between us."
"Yes."
"No lawyers."
"No board."
"No family."
"Agreed."
Silence settled.
But it wasn't hostile now.
It was focused.
He extended his hand.
Not like a contract.
Not like dominance.
Like partnership.
"For the truth," he said.
She looked at his hand.
Then at him.
Four days ago, she wanted to destroy him.
Now she was about to build something with him.
She took his hand.
"For the truth."
His grip tightened slightly.
War pact sealed.
But neither of them let go immediately.
The tension shifted again.
Not strategic.
Personal.
Dangerous.
"You realize," he said quietly, "if Daniel suspects we're working together, he'll escalate."
"I'm not afraid of him."
"I am."
She blinked.
"You?"
"I'm not afraid of Daniel Cross," he clarified.
"I'm afraid of what he'll do to you."
The words landed softly.
Unexpected.
Her pulse stumbled.
"You barely know me."
"I know enough."
Silence.
Too close again.
Too aware.
"We should set boundaries," she said, but didn't step back.
"Yes," he agreed.
Neither moved.
"This is strategic," she whispered.
"Yes."
"Not personal."
"Correct."
His hand slid from hers slowly.
But his fingers brushed her wrist again.
Lingering.
"Clause Seventeen," he murmured.
"No emotional attachment."
Her breath caught.
"We're still compliant," she said.
He gave the faintest almost-smile.
"For now."
Another buzz.
Another message.
You're closer than you think. But Daniel isn't the only one hiding something. Ask Jonathan Reed about Project Helix.
Alexander went still.
"Project what?" she asked.
His expression darkened.
"That's not public."
The alliance had just formed.
And the war had just expanded.