Chapter 2 - The Inside Wire
The silence that followed stretched until the faint hum of the ceiling vents sounded like a roaring engine. Daniel Mercer’s eyes flickered, his gaze darting from Adrien’s impassive face to the digital tablet held tightly in Marcus Hail’s grip.
"Adrien, you can't possibly think—" Mercer stammered, raising his hands in a placating gesture. "I’ve run operations for Moretti Enterprises for six years! Why would I jeopardize the firm?"
"Not the firm," Clare interjected smoothly, leaning against the edge of the conference desk. "Just Mr. Moretti. With Adrien dead and the blame pinned on his personal secretary for an unauthorized security breach, the executive board would have invoked the emergency succession bylaws by tomorrow morning. And under those bylaws, the senior operating director assumes interim voting control of the trust."
Mercer looked at Clare with sudden venom. "You're an administrative assistant, Bennett. Know your place."
"Her place just saved my life," Adrien snapped, his voice sharp as broken glass. He took two measured steps forward, towering over the operations director. "And right now, your place is looking remarkably like an open cell in a federal penitentiary—or an unmarked grave in the Jersey Pine Barrens, depending on who questions you first."
Detective Ortiz cleared her throat, resting a hand conspicuously near her utility belt. "Mr. Moretti, let's keep this official. Mr. Mercer, your phone and company credentials, right now."
Mercer swallowed hard, his skin taking on a greasy, grayish sheen. "I want my lawyer."
"You can call whoever you want from the precinct," Ortiz said, stepping forward with handcuffs out. "Daniel Mercer, you’re being detained for questioning in connection with an attempted homicide and corporate espionage."
As Ortiz escorted Mercer out under the watchful eyes of four armed Moretti guards, Marcus stared at his tablet. "Boss, it doesn't add up. Mercer is a coward and an embezzler, sure. We just found five hundred grand wired to an offshore shell company in his name twenty minutes ago. But Mercer doesn't know military-grade snipers. He wouldn't know how to wire a pneumatic solenoid into an acoustic relay if his life depended on it."
"He was the inside conduit," Clare said, gently rotating her bandaged wrist. The adrenaline was beginning to ebb, leaving behind a dull, throbbing ache. "He opened the door and planted the device, but someone gave him the blueprints and the hardware. Someone with deep knowledge of the Moretti infrastructure."
Adrien looked down at her, his dark eyes softening by a fraction. "You’re bleeding through the dressing, Clare."
"It's just a scrape from the tempered glass," she replied, though a slight tremor gave her away.
"Marcus, get the private vehicle brought up to the basement bay. Cancel all appointments for the rest of the week. We’re moving the executive office to the brownstone." Adrien reached out, his long fingers gently catching Clare’s uninjured elbow to steady her. "And Clare is coming with me."
Clare looked up into his intense gaze, her chin lifting slightly. "Mr. Moretti, I appreciate the concern, but my apartment is only twelve blocks away. I have a cat to feed, and I'd prefer not to be locked inside a fortified bunker."
Adrien didn't let go of her arm. If anything, his grip grew firmer, though carefully calibrated so as not to hurt her. "Whoever hired that sniper knows you ruined their shot. They know you recognized the frequency and warned me before the round shattered the glass. Out there, you're the loose thread that can tie them to the shooter. In my home, you are protected by thirty armed men."
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"Is that an order, boss?" she asked quietly, her pulse skipping a beat at his sudden proximity.
"It's an absolute necessity," Adrien replied, his voice dropping into an intimate register that sent a shiver down her spine. "I owe you my life, Clare. I don't leave my debts exposed."
