The alley exploded into chaos.
Martin raised the neural disruptor.
A high-pitched whine cut the air as Helix’s voice fractured in their earpieces: “Chairman… systems… failing…”
Erick didn’t hesitate.
He shoved Remi behind a dumpster and opened fire.
Two of Martin’s men dropped.
Ivan unleashed a full magazine from the shadows, forcing the others to scramble for cover.
“Move!” Erick roared.
They sprinted down the alley as bullets chewed concrete behind them.
Ivan lobbed a smoke grenade.
Thick white clouds swallowed the street.
A black motorcycle—pre-positioned by Helix before the compromise—waited at the corner.
Erick swung onto it, Remi climbing behind him.
Ivan took a second bike that roared to life beside them.
Engines screamed.
They shot out of the alley into oncoming traffic, weaving between cars like ghosts.
Martin’s SUVs gave chase, sirens wailing in the distance as fake police calls flooded the system.
“Helix is down,” Remi shouted over the wind, arms locked tight around Erick’s waist.
“Not dead,” Erick replied through gritted teeth.
“She’s in sleep mode.
We’ll reboot her at the secondary node.”
They tore across the Brooklyn Bridge, the city lights blurring into streaks of gold and red.
Sirens faded behind them as Ivan used a jammer to kill the pursuit vehicles’ GPS.
Ten minutes later, they ditched the bikes in a quiet warehouse district and slipped into a nondescript loft above an abandoned printing press—another of Erick’s safe houses.
The door slammed shut.
Ivan immediately started barricading and running countersurveillance sweeps.
Erick ripped off his vest, chest heaving.
Blood trickled from a graze on his bicep.
Remi was on him instantly, pressing a cloth to the wound.
“You’re bleeding,” she said, voice tight.
“Superficial.” He caught her wrist, eyes locking with hers under the harsh overhead light.
Adrenaline still burned hot between them.
“You handled yourself out there.”
Remi didn’t pull away.
“I almost shot Martin in the face.”
“Would’ve saved us trouble.”
They moved to the central table where a backup terminal hummed to life.
Erick initiated the Helix reboot sequence.
For the next hour, they worked fast—mapping Laurent’s financial bleed, planning the next three strikes, and feeding Mira Solenne anonymous tips about Michel’s frozen accounts.
Laurent Group stock was now down 19%.
Michel was reportedly screaming at lawyers in a downtown penthouse.
At 3:17 AM, they finally paused.
Ivan had stepped out to secure the perimeter.
Remi leaned against the table, arms crossed, studying Erick as he stared at the glowing screens.
“You still love her, don’t you?”
The question cut through the room like a blade.
Erick froze.
Slowly, he turned.
“Dominique?”
“You know who I mean.” Remi’s voice was quiet but sharp.
“During the gala… even after everything she did.
The pregnancy lie.
The public humiliation.
You still hesitated when you saw her on that feed.”
Erick exhaled, running a hand through his hair.
The weight of five years pressed down on him.
“It became real for me,” he admitted, voice rough.
“At the beginning it was just infiltration.
Gather intel.
Destroy from within.
But she… she made me believe there was something worth saving inside that family.
I let myself fall.
Then she killed our child and chose Martin’s bed.
That wound doesn’t close overnight, Remi.
But it doesn’t control me anymore.”
Remi stepped closer until only inches separated them.
Her eyes searched his face.
“And me?
What is this?”
The air thickened.
Erick’s hand rose, fingers brushing her jaw.
“This,” he said softly, “is dangerous.
You’re the first person in years who sees me.
Not the useless husband.
Just… me.”
Their foreheads touched.
Breaths mingled.
Remi’s lips parted, inches from his.
The pull was magnetic—raw, inevitable after a night of bullets and betrayal.
Erick tilted his head, closing the distance.
A soft chime from the terminal broke the moment.
They pulled back, breathing hard.
Helix’s voice returned, weak but recovering: “Reboot at 43%.
Warning—new priority intercept.”
The screen filled with a live feed.
Martin Clarke, standing in a brightly lit command center, smirking directly into the camera.
“Hello, Quade,” Martin said smoothly.
“You really thought those bunkers were secret?
I’ve had your schematics for months.
Courtesy of a very cooperative board member.”
Erick’s eyes narrowed.
Martin continued, “Your little financial stunt?
Cute.
But while you were running, we completed the transfer.
Michel’s money is safe.
And we just activated a kill switch on three of your primary Helix nodes.
By morning, half your infrastructure goes dark.”
Remi’s face paled.
Martin leaned closer to the camera.
“You lose, Erick.
Dominique is mine.
The city is about to be ours.
Surrender now, and maybe I’ll let your pet Laurent live.”
The feed cut.
Erick smirked, the expression sending a chill down Remi’s spine.
“Are you sure you’ve won, Martin?” he whispered to the blank screen.
The terminal chimed again.
Helix’s voice returned at full strength:
“Chairman.
All compromised nodes have been successfully isolated.
Antivirus deployed.
Martin Clarke’s command center is now broadcasting live footage of his own offshore accounts… straight to every regulatory agency in the country.”
Erick’s smirk widened.