The abandoned subway station smelled like rust and old water.
Flickering emergency lights cast long shadows over cracked concrete.
Empty train tracks stretched into darkness.
Erick had led them here after escaping GD Holdings.
The stolen documents were safe in a waterproof bag on his shoulder.
Ivan leaned against a wall, his bandages bleeding again.
Aria tapped at a beat-up laptop, trying to get Helix working.
Remi sat on an overturned crate, still stunned by Erick’s confession back at GD.
Erick stood at the platform’s edge, staring down the tunnel.
The memory sat heavily in his chest.
No one in the Laurent family had known he was Quade before the gala.
To them, he was just Dominique’s quiet husband—someone to push around.
They never guessed he’d built GD Tech.
Victor Hale was the first to figure it out during his public meltdown.
The Clarkes knew even less.
Martin Clarke only saw Erick as competition for Dominique.
That ignorance had been Erick’s advantage.
Now it was gone.
Helix’s voice crackled through the laptop.
“Chairman… partial recovery.
Sixty-three percent functional.
Recommend ghost protocol.”
Aria exhaled.
“She’s back, but barely.
We’ve got limited surveillance and one secure line.”
Erick turned to the group.
“Show me the GD files.”
They spread papers across a makeshift table—bank records, contracts, printed emails.
Aria cross-checked them with the stolen data.
Remi watched, then spoke softly.
“So they never knew?”
Erick shook his head.
“Victor realized at the gala.
Before that?
No.
Leroy thought he’d married his daughter to a nobody.
“You were the only one I couldn’t predict.”
The air between them shifted.
Remi stepped closer.
“After what Dominique did… how did you stay?”
His jaw tightened.
“Because walking away too soon would’ve let them win.” He brushed a strand of hair from her face.
“I didn’t plan for you.”
Aria interrupted.
“Got it.
This email proves it—Leroy ordered the cleanup after your father’s crash.
It’s murder.”
Erick scanned the pages, expression turning cold.
“Leak copies to journalists and the SEC.
Let the truth cut them first.”
Helix chimed in: “Alert.
Martin Clarke is holding a press conference.
He’s offering two million for your capture.
Dominique’s with him.
They’re calling you fugitives.”
Remi cursed.
“They’re making us the villains.”
“They’re scared,” Erick said.
“That’s good.
Scared people make mistakes.”
A drone’s buzz echoed above.
Aria checked a tablet.
“They’re close.”
Erick grabbed the most critical files.
“We’re moving.
There’s a tunnel to the river district—another safe house three miles out.”
As they slipped into the dark, Remi walked beside him.
“What happens when everyone finds out Quade’s been hiding in plain sight?”
Erick smiled, sharp in the dim light.
“Then the real fight starts.
And this time, I’m not hiding.”
Behind them, a drone’s light swept the empty platform.
Helix’s partial recovery gave them one edge—a single untraceable line out.
Erick typed a final command before shutting the laptop down:
Target: Michel Laurent’s offshore accounts.*
Status: Draining.
“What does that mean?” Remi asked, watching the screen flicker.
Erick shouldered the bag.
“It means we’re not just running anymore.”
He glanced at his watch—five minutes until GD’s records would leak globally.
Five minutes until the Laurents’ empire began crumbling.
Five minutes until Dominique would know exactly who she’d underestimated.
Erick stepped into the tunnel, leading them deeper into the dark.
Remi looked into the dark hole.
“You’re joking.”
It groaned.
Below was a ladder leading into what looked like a flooded basement.
Ivan spat over the railing.
“Boss, I’d rather get shot.”
They climbed down.
The ladder groaned under their weight.
Remi’s foot slipped on a rusty rung.
Erick grabbed her wrist hard.
“Careful,” he muttered.
His voice echoed in the dark.
Flashlights clicked on.
The light revealed a small bunker full of water-damaged crates.
The place smelled like mildew and gasoline, with a metallic hint—maybe blood, maybe rust.
Aria crouched by some ammo boxes.
She pulled back a tarp, showing a makeshift computer setup.
“Helix’s backup node,” she said.
She wiped dust off a cracked monitor.
Erick dropped stolen files on a folding table.
The papers spread out like playing cards.
“We’ve got six hours before Michel notices his money’s gone.
Less if Dominique checks her safe.” He tapped a map of the river district.
A red circle marked an old shipping yard.
“That’s our next target.”
Remi picked up a blurry photo.
“The Laurents’ dry dock?
It’s guarded like a bank vault.”
“Not the dock.” Erick flipped the photo.
It showed blueprints of a plain office trailer.
“Their accountant works there.
All the offshore money goes through that trailer first.” His thumb brushed something on the paper—maybe old blood.
“Cut off the head, and the body doesn’t know it’s dead yet.”
Aria plugged cables into the server.
The screen flickered to life with static.
“Accessing their feed now.” The image cleared.
It showed Michel Laurent pacing in a glass office, phone pressed to his ear.
The video was grainy, but his tense shoulders showed panic.
Remi leaned closer.
“He knows.”