Chapter 984:

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“Intercept it,” she commanded, her voice a low, vicious hiss. “Use our entire network. I want every piece of data on Cailin Morton altered or erased. Her medical files, her birth certificate. Create a new identity, a new history. Now.”

She hung up and began to pace the parlor, the sharp click of her heels a frantic, desperate rhythm. Data wasn’t enough. She had to eliminate the source. She pulled out a different phone, a burner, and dialed the encrypted number for her most trusted asset. A cleaner.

“I have a new target,” she said, her voice devoid of all emotion. “Her name is Cailin Morton. I want her gone. Permanently.”

While Eleonora scrambled to contain a firestorm, her daughter was blissfully unaware, living out a fantasy.

In a Michelin-starred restaurant in midtown Manhattan, Giselle Van Doren sat across from Hilliard Holloway. She wore a stunning, backless evening gown, the picture of seductive elegance.

She raised her wine glass, her eyes fixed on Hilliard. “To new partnerships,” she purred.

Hilliard met her gaze and lifted his own glass, his expression unreadable. He felt like he was observing a specimen under glass.

𝗪𝘦 upd𝗮t𝖾 e𝘷𝗲𝗋y 𝘄𝗲𝗲k 𝗼ո 𝘨𝖺𝗅𝗻𝗈𝗏𝗲𝗅𝘀.c𝗈𝗺

Eager to prove her value, Giselle leaned forward conspiratorially. “You know,” she said, her voice a low whisper, “my family maintains a private research facility, right here in the city. The security is tighter than the Pentagon. It’s where we keep our most valuable compounds.”

Hilliard’s heart gave a single, hard beat. He set his glass down, affecting an air of mild interest. “Is that so?”

He let a hint of disbelief color his tone. “Forgive my skepticism, Giselle, but I’ve heard such boasts before. They rarely live up to the hype.”

The bait was perfectly cast. Giselle’s competitive nature flared. The idea that he might think she was exaggerating, that he might see her as anything less than a key player, was intolerable.

“I could show you,” she blurted out, the words tumbling out before she could stop them. “Tonight. After dinner. I’ll prove it to you.”

A flicker of a smile, cold and sharp as a razor, touched Hilliard’s lips. It was gone in an instant. This was the moment he had engineered.

He pretended to consider it, then gave a reluctant sigh. “Very well. If you insist.”

He stood and held her chair for her, the perfect gentleman.

They walked out of the restaurant and into the cool night air. Hilliard’s armored SUV was waiting. As they slid into the plush leather interior, Giselle continued to chatter, describing the lab’s state-of-the-art equipment.

Hilliard listened with half an ear, his other hand, hidden from her view, activating a signal jammer and a micro-GPS tracker on his phone. He was preparing the battlefield.

Back on Long Island, Eleonora had just ended her call with the assassin. The butler rushed into the parlor, his face pale with alarm.

“Madam,” he stammered. “Mr. Van Doren’s car has just passed through the main gate. He’s home.”

Eleonora’s blood ran cold. Her eyes shot to the Persian rug, to the dark, damp patch where the poisoned whiskey had spilled.

If Donovan smelled it, if his damned hunting dogs detected the chemical trace.

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