Chapter 20 - Forty-One Minutes
Forty-one minutes sounds generous until hundreds of lives depend on every second.
Whitmore Tower became a war room.
Federal cyber specialists occupied the executive floor.
Engineers shouted across conference tables.
Servers were physically disconnected.
Emergency generators were isolated.
Nobody knew whether Malcolm’s release trigger could be stopped.
I stood beside a digital countdown projected onto the wall.
00:37:18.
Preston approached.
“Federal agents are questioning Malcolm.”
“He won’t give them the key.”
“No.”
“Of course not.”
Nathan joined us.
“They found three encrypted devices on him.”
“Any useful information?”
“One contained the trigger application.”
Hope rose.
Then died when Nathan continued.
“It requires biometric confirmation from Malcolm to cancel.”
“Fingerprint?”
“Retinal scan and spoken passphrase.”
“He’ll refuse.”
“He already has.”
I looked at the countdown.
00:34:02.
“Bring me to him.”
Nathan frowned.
“Rosalind.”
“He wants me.”
“This is not a movie. Federal agents aren’t going to casually let a civilian negotiate with a suspect during—”
A federal prosecutor stepped into the room.
“Actually, they might.”
Twenty minutes later, I entered a secure interrogation room beneath the federal building.
Malcolm sat handcuffed to the table.
For the first time, his suit was wrinkled.
His silver hair was disordered.
But his arrogance remained untouched.
“Rosalind.”
“Malcolm.”
He smiled.
“You found me faster than Walter would have.”
“Thank you.”
That annoyed him.
Good.
A tablet on the table showed the countdown.
00:19:41.
“Give them the passphrase.”
“No.”
“Then you’ll add hundreds of additional federal charges.”
“I’m sixty-six years old. How many life sentences do you think frighten me?”
I sat across from him.
“You don’t care about prison.”
“Correct.”
“You care about winning.”
His eyes sharpened.
“So did Walter.”
“My father cared about protecting people.”
“Walter cared about being right.”
“Is that what this was? Fifteen years because he embarrassed you?”
Malcolm’s smile vanished.
“He stole my future.”
“No. He stopped you from stealing your employees’ retirement.”
“You know nothing about what happened.”
“I read your signed settlement.”
His jaw tightened.
“You accepted eighty-seven million dollars.”
“I accepted humiliation.”
“And built an eight-billion-dollar fortune afterward.”
“That is not the point!”
There.
The mask slipped.
I leaned forward.
“It was never about money.”
He breathed harder.
“It was about Walter making you feel powerless.”
Silence.
“Then he died before you could defeat him.”
Malcolm’s expression turned cold.
“So you decided to defeat his daughter instead.”
“You were supposed to break.”
“I didn’t.”
“Grant came close.”
“Grant is spending the rest of his life in a concrete box.”
Malcolm glanced away.
I saw it.
The hatred.
Not for me.
For Grant.
“You hate him.”
“He was weak.”
“He recorded you.”
Malcolm slowly looked back.
I smiled.
“Seventeen minutes.”
His face changed.
“Impossible.”
“Newark. Safety deposit archive. Tessa Marlow’s name.”
For the first time, Malcolm Reeve looked frightened.
“He kept it?”
“He kept everything.”
I watched the realization destroy him.
Grant, the man Malcolm considered stupid and disposable, had preserved the evidence that could send him to prison.
The countdown read 00:11:09.
“Cancel the release.”
“No.”
“You’ve already lost.”
“Then let your precious empire bleed.”
“It won’t.”
“Those shelter names go public in eleven minutes.”
“Everyone has been moved.”
His expression shifted.
“All thirty-two shelters.”
That landed.
“You planned to hurt vulnerable women to punish me.”
I leaned closer.
“And we protected every one of them before you could.”
00:09:22.
“You still have employee data,” Malcolm said.
“We’ll rebuild.”
“Trade secrets.”
“We’ll innovate again.”
“Banking records.”
“We’ll replace accounts.”
His breathing became shallow.
“You cannot destroy me by taking things from me,” I said.
“My father taught me that.”
I touched the tablet.
“But you can destroy yourself by refusing to understand when you’ve lost.”
00:07:45.
I stood.
Malcolm stared at the countdown.
“You’re leaving?”
“Yes.”
“You’re bluffing.”
“No.”
“The files will release.”
“Then they release.”
His arrogance cracked.
“You’d risk everything?”
“To deny you the pleasure of believing fear controls me?”
I opened the door.
“Yes.”
“Wait.”
I stopped.
Malcolm swallowed.
“What happens if I cancel it?”
“You still face prosecution.”
“Immunity.”
“No.”
“Reduced charges.”
“Not mine to offer.”
He looked at the countdown.
00:05:03.
“Witness protection?”
“You’re the criminal everyone needs protection from.”
His face twisted.
00:03:49.
“Rosalind!”
I reached the doorway.
“Walter would negotiate.”
I turned.
“No.”
I smiled faintly.
“My father would know you already had.”
Malcolm stared at me.
Then at the clock.
His entire identity was built around control.
He couldn’t tolerate watching his final weapon become meaningless.
“Fine!”
Agents rushed in.
Malcolm pressed his eye to the scanner.
Then spoke the passphrase.
“Meridian Crown Seven.”
The countdown stopped at nineteen seconds.
Across Whitmore Tower, screens flashed.
TRIGGER DISABLED.
DATA SECURED.
I watched Malcolm slump back in the chair.
He had spent fifteen years trying to defeat my father.
In the end, nobody outsmarted him.
Nobody threatened him.
May you like
Nobody broke him.
He surrendered because he could not bear discovering that his power no longer mattered.
