“Show me my accounts,” Ramirez barks at Ben, lowering the gun just slightly.
“I assure you all of your accounts are in order,” Ben says, his hands rising defensively.
“I don’t want your assurance,” Ramirez seethes. “I want you to pull up my accounts.”
Ben hesitates, his gaze flicking to the laptop, then to Ramirez... and finally to me. The fear on his face looks real—too real. For a split second, doubt slips in. Was this a mistake? He takes slow steps toward the laptop. Rook backs away and gives him access.
With several keystrokes, Ben logs in, fingers gliding over the keyboard with the kind of precision that comes from practice. The loading bar inches across the screen—slowly.
Ramirez’s gaze sharpens. “Why is it taking so long?” he asks, voice low and dangerous.
Ben doesn’t flinch. “Encrypted server. Takes a second to sync across regions.”
Ramirez steps closer, eyes narrowing at the screen, then at Ben.
“A second’s up,” he growls. “If you’ve touched anything in those accounts—if what she says is true—”
Ben’s jaw flexes, but he keeps his eyes fixed on the screen. I’ve only seen him angry once before—when we were kids and his friend crushed a butterfly just to see it break. He didn’t yell. Didn’t even raise his voice. Just stood there, still and quiet, like fury was something he kept under lock and key.
He looks like that now.
His fingers still over the keyboard for half a second too long, like he’s weighing something. A pause that doesn’t go unnoticed.
Ramirez’s eyes narrow. “Problem?”
Ben clears his throat. “No,” he says firmly. “No problem. But you might find this interesting.” He turns the laptop toward Ramirez, fingers gliding across the track pad to open the most recent transaction history. “There has been unauthorized activity on one of your offshore accounts.” He points at the screen. “That transfer is marked two days ago. Not from me. It was authorized using Sebastian Edmond’s credentials.”
The air goes still.
Ramirez shifts his gaze toward Sebastian.
He’s staring at the screen like it just slapped him. “I—I didn’t—That’s not—”
My breath snags—sharp and involuntary—as the accusation lands.
Ramirez takes a step forward. “You stole from me?”
Mr. Edmond spins on Sebastian. “Lies!”
Sebastian backs up. “No—this isn’t what it looks like. I would never—”
But it’s too late.
Sebastian lunges at Ben.
Chapter 40
Ben
Dallas, Texas
Monday night
I take the hit square in the ribs, and I don’t know if the cracking noise is the sound of my bones or the chair Rook was sitting in. Sebastian’s shoulder drives into me like a battering ram—fury, panic, and pure adrenaline wrapped in a designer button-down.
Ramirez shouts. Cybil screams. Rook draws his weapon.
I stumble back, catching myself against the table—just in time to see the laptop slide off the edge and hit the concrete hard. It slides across the floor and crashes against a steel beam.
