Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 530(@200wpm)___ 424(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“And if I choose not to honor that arrangement?”
Knox speaks up. “Then our friend Cole Asher gets involved. You may know the name. Tech billionaire, extensive private security, the kind of resources that make your operation look like a lemonade stand.” He lets that sink in. “Cole knows where we are. He knows who we’re talking to. And if anything happens to any of us, a car accident, a mugging, a gas leak, anything, he has instructions to make your life very expensive and very public. Every asset, every shell company, every connection you’ve spent decades building. He’ll burn it all down and enjoy doing it.”
Nobody speaks for long enough that I start to wonder if he’s hung up.
“Mr. Asher,” Kedrov says finally. “Yes. I know the name.” Another pause. “You’ve thought this through.”
“We’ve had ten days in a cabin with nothing to do but think,” Hailey says.
“Very well. The diamond and the information, in exchange for my complete disinterest in your future existence. I accept these terms.”
So we give him everything. My six weeks of direct contact with Marlena’s network. The broker in Zurich. The shell companies and bolt-holes she mentioned while she had me alone. Knox walks Kedrov through the transport details: helicopter make and model, airstrip location, guard rotations, weapons, the mining camp layout. I fill in what I remember from our days working the circuit. Fences she’d use to move stolen pieces, a German in Munich, a Frenchwoman in Lyon, an Italian family operation in Milan. Between the three of us, we hand Kedrov a map of Marlena’s world he couldn’t have assembled on his own.
“There’s a private collector in Geneva,” Knox adds. We both look at him. He shrugs. “Cole Asher’s world. You hear things. Guy named Renaud, buys high-end pieces, doesn’t ask where they come from.”
Hailey nods and keeps going. Underground auction houses that operate in the shadows of the legitimate art world. How Marlena thinks, what drives her, the obsession with Kedrov that’s eaten her alive for half a decade.
Viktor is thorough, asking clarifying questions, cross-referencing information. He knows more than I expected—testing us, probably, making sure we’re not feeding him false leads.
When he’s satisfied, there’s a pause.
“You’ve been most helpful,” Viktor says. “As agreed, you will not hear from me again. But Ms. Parker—a word of advice, if I may.”
Hailey leans toward the phone. “I’m listening.”
“If you choose to continue in this profession, choose your targets more carefully in the future. Stealing from someone like Marlena Kade?” He makes a dismissive sound. “Foolish but survivable. Stealing from me?” His tone goes cold, all pretense of pleasantry stripped away. “There would be no second chance. Do we understand each other?”
“Yes,” Hailey says quietly. “We understand.”
“Good.” The warmth returns, artificial as a mask. “Then I wish you a happy new year. And a long, quiet life.”
The call ends.
None of us speaks for a long moment.
“So that’s it?” Knox asks. “We just . . . trust him?”
“We don’t trust him,” Hailey says. “We trust Cole. And Kedrov trusts that we’re not bluffing about Cole.” She picks up her coffee, looks at it, puts it back down. “That’s not the same thing as trust. But it holds.”
“And Marlena?”
I shrug. “Viktor’s people will find her eventually. Either way, she’s not our problem anymore.”
It should feel like a victory. We survived. We’re free. The threat that’s been hanging over us has been neutralized, one way or another.
But sitting in this fluorescent-lit cafeteria with bad coffee going cold in front of us, all I feel is tired. Exhaustion that has nothing to do with the physical ordeal we’ve been through.
We finish with the RCMP another hour later. Sign statements, provide contact information, promise to make ourselves available if they have follow-up questions. The investigation will continue, but we’re cleared to leave. Just victims caught up in something beyond our control.
Michelle meets us outside the station, her dark hair catching the late afternoon light. She’s back in her ranger gear, looking more at home than she ever did holding a rifle during the siege.
“So you’re really heading back to New York,” she says. It’s not quite a question.
“Yeah.” Hailey pulls her into a hug. “Thank you. For everything. We’d be dead without you.”
Michelle hugs her back, then steps away with that easy smile. “Just doing my job. Well, slightly outside my job description, but close enough.”
Knox clears his throat. “About that.” He pulls a business card from his wallet—I didn’t even know he still had one on him after everything—and hands it to her. “If you ever want a change of scenery, look me up. Cole Asher runs Asher Industries in Manhattan. We could use someone with your skills. Security, crisis management, keeping idiots alive when they get in over their heads.” He glances at Hailey and me. “We seem to attract a lot of that.”