Page 17 of A Ballad of Blackbirds and Betrayal (Dynamis Security #4)

Eight years. For eight years, Atticus Cameron had played the grieving widower, the dedicated father, the successful businessman who’d moved past tragedy to build his security empire.

He’d accepted Mitchell’s condolences at his wife’s funeral, shaken his hand at charity galas, maintained the perfect facade of ignorance.

And all along, he’d been hunting.

Mitchell had always known it was a possibility. He hadn’t survived in politics—hadn’t built a bioweapons empire beneath the veneer of public service—by underestimating his opponents. But Cameron had been patient, methodical, revealing nothing until now.

“Sir,” his security chief continued, “we need to consider containment protocols. If Dr. Wells shared Cho’s information with Cameron?—”

“Then Atticus knows everything,” Mitchell completed the thought, his voice cold with fury. “Which means he’s known about my involvement in his wife’s death for some time. This isn’t a recent development—it’s the culmination of a very long game.”

The realization sparked equal parts rage and reluctant admiration. Cameron had learned to play politics after all, despite his military bluntness. He’d waited, gathered evidence, built his case while maintaining a cordial relationship with the man he knew had murdered his wife.

Mitchell swiveled his chair to face the window, gazing across the Capitol grounds as he considered his next move.

The Blackbird demonstration was scheduled for two days from now.

Two days until Mitchell would showcase his bioweapon to international buyers who’d pay billions for the technology.

Two days until his power would transcend mere political influence.

“Accelerate the timetable,” he ordered. “I want the demonstration moved up.”

“Sir, the preparation team has indicated?—”

“I don’t care what they’ve indicated,” Mitchell cut in, his voice dropping to the quiet register that made staffers tremble. “Get it done. And I want Dr. Wells eliminated. No traces, no connections. Her apartment, her records, anything that might link her to Cho or BioGenix—all of it disappears.”

“Yes, sir. And Cameron?”

Mitchell’s lips curved in a cold smile as he stared at the distant Washington Monument. “Mr. Cameron believes he’s been patient. Let’s show him what true patience looks like.” He opened his desk drawer and removed a small dossier. “Deploy the Georgetown team. I want eyes on his daughter.”

“Do you want us to move on the girl?”

“Not yet,” Mitchell replied, contemplating the photograph of Anna Cameron that had been taken just weeks ago on the Georgetown campus. Pretty girl. Looked like her mother. “For now, just make sure Cameron knows we can reach her anytime we choose.”

He was about to hang up when another thought occurred to him. “And send someone to BioGenix. Dr. Cho may have shared more than we realize. I want to know exactly what happened in that meeting. Have them access the surveillance footage from her office.”

The call ended, and Mitchell remained still, staring at the city that had been both his kingdom and his prison for three decades.

Atticus Cameron. The name tasted bitter in his mouth.

Eight years ago, Cameron had been getting too close to Mitchell’s weapons operations, following a money trail that led directly to Mitchell’s private foundations.

Jane Cameron’s death had been necessary—a message, a distraction, a way to derail the investigation before it reached Mitchell himself. Collateral damage was unavoidable in politics. Mitchell had never lost sleep over it.

But now he wondered if he’d made a miscalculation, leaving Cameron alive.

At the time, it had seemed the prudent choice.

A man like Atticus, with his military background and connections, would have been missed.

Questions would have been asked. Better to break him with grief, to make him focus on his injured daughter rather than vengeance.

Money had never been his primary goal. Mitchell had amassed more wealth than he could spend in three lifetimes through his various enterprises.

No, what drove him was something far more intoxicating: power.

The kind of power that exceeded political office or wealth—the power to shape history itself.

“Some men want to be kings,” his mentor had once told him.

“Smarter men make themselves kingmakers.” Mitchell had taken that lesson to heart.

The bioweapon represented the ultimate leverage—a bargaining chip that would secure his influence with governments worldwide.

The profit from sales was merely a means to an end, funding his expanding network of loyalists and ensuring his continued control over international policy decisions.

The project had begun as a simple business venture—develop weaponry that could be sold to the highest bidder.

But as Mitchell had watched the bioweapon take shape, he’d realized its true value wasn’t in the sales price but in what possession of such technology represented: absolute leverage over those who most craved power themselves.

“Sir,” his security chief’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “What are your orders regarding Cameron?”

Mitchell’s lips curved in a cold smile. Cameron was a complication, but not an insurmountable one.

“Proceed as planned with the demonstration. I want our buyers to understand exactly what they’re bidding on.

” He paused, considering the chessboard of players before him.

“And deploy surveillance on his daughter as discussed. Let’s ensure Cameron understands the true price of interfering with my operations. ”

After all, power wasn’t just about what you could do—it was about ensuring others knew you were willing to do it.