Chapter Forty-Three
Vane
The penthouse is a fucking shitty cage.
The ankle monitor chafes against my skin, a constant, buzzing reminder that I am a goddamn lion in a birdcage. My lawyers—those spineless, overpaid vultures—want to play by the rules of a system that Arthur has already corrupted from the inside out. They want to file motions and wait for hearing dates while Sloane is being hollowed out by the legal machine.
"I have it," a voice crackles through the encrypted comm-link. It's Echo, a dark-web forensic specialist I've used for the kind of industrial espionage that makes the SEC look like a kindergarten class. "The audio Arthur leaked was rendered on a specialized server in the Caymans. They used a voice-synthesizer tuned to Sloane's specific vocal fry. It's a fucking masterpiece of deep-fake tech, Vane. Most labs wouldn't even catch the seam."
"Can you prove it in a way that burns Arthur alive?" I ask, my grip tightening on the edge of the mahogany desk until the wood groans.
"I can find the digital signature of the man who pushed 'upload.' It leads back to The Loring Corp—the firm you dismantled last year. Arthur didn't act alone; he partnered with the ghosts of your victims. They're coming for your head, Vane. They don't give a shit about the company; they want you erased."
I stand up, pacing the length of the living room like a predator in a zoo. I have the evidence to clear the firm, but it won't be enough to clear her in time. The legal process is a goddamn glacier. Sloane is a bird trapped in a furnace, and I am watching her wings burn through a security feed.
Every second she's in that cell is a personal failure. Every time some guard puts their hands on her, it's a debt I'll have to pay in blood.
"Miller!" I roar.
The lawyer stumbles into the room, nearly tripping over his own $3,000 loafers. "Vane, you have to stay calm. The sensors—"
"Fuck the sensors," I snarl, stepping into his personal space until he's forced to look up at me. "Change of plans. We aren't fighting the indictment anymore. I'm not waiting for a trial that'll take eighteen months while she rots. I'm going to blow the entire system."
Miller's eyes go wide. "What are you talking about?"
"Tell the District Attorney I'm ready to confess. To every-fucking-thing. Every charge of coercion, every instance of securities fraud—all of it. Tell them I used her mother's medical care to force her into every single 'crime' they're investigating. I want her name cleared, and I want it done by tonight."
"Vane, that's professional suicide!" Miller screams, his hands shaking. "You'll go to a federal penitentiary for twenty years. You'll lose the Sterling name. You'll lose everything!"
"I don't give a fuck," I bark, grabbing him by the lapels and shaking him. "She is dying in there, and every second I spend in this penthouse drinking fifty-year-old scotch is a second I am failing the only contract that actually fucking matters. Get the DA. Tell them I'm ready to sign my life away. Now!"
I let him go, and he stumbles back, terrified. I turn to the window, the city lights mocking me. Arthur thinks he's won because he's forced me to choose between my empire and the woman I love.
He doesn't realize I'd rather be king of a prison cell with her than the god of a world without her.