Page 5 of Secret Hope (Hope Landing: New Recruits #5)
Xavier Vega stood before the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Orchid Isle penthouse, watching the sun paint the Pacific in shades of gold and blood. Below, his resort sprawled across manicured grounds—a paradise built on suffering, funded by the desperate, maintained by the damned.
Because nothing built a fortune more reliably than catering to people's darkest desires.
"Reynolds is confirmed for the tournament." His assistant placed a tablet on the marble desk, surveillance footage from the San Francisco gala playing silently. "She'll be on tonight's red-eye."
Vega didn't turn from the window. On screen, Cassidy Reynolds embraced a group of teenagers—former trafficking victims, according to his intelligence. The irony was delicious. "Tell me about these children she saves."
Webb consulted his notes. "Twelve facilities across Southeast Asia and Eastern Europe. Four hundred and seventy-three children 'rescued' in the past five years. She's disrupted operations in Bangkok, Prague, S?o Paulo?—"
"Operations that cost me millions." Vega's voice remained conversational, but Webb stepped back.
"The Bangkok factory alone was worth eight million annually.
Forty-two children who would have processed electronics for another decade, gone in one night because the 'Angel of the Felt' decided to play savior. "
He finally turned from the window, his expression as calm as if discussing stock portfolios. "Do you know what I find most offensive about Ms. Reynolds?"
"Sir?"
"She uses poker winnings—gambling proceeds—to fund her moral crusade. The hypocrisy is stunning." He moved to his desk, fingers dancing across a hidden panel. A wall section slid aside, revealing banks of monitors showing every corner of his resort.
Webb shifted. "But sir, if she's disrupted so many operations, why invite her here? Why not simply?—"
"Kill her?" Vega smiled, the expression never touching his eyes. "Dead martyrs inspire movements. But a discredited fraud? A poker player caught cheating, connected to criminal enterprises, her foundation revealed as a money laundering front? That destroys everything she's built."
He touched another control. The screens shifted to show dossiers—three men's faces appeared.
"Petrov, Reagan, and Holloway. Each has become a liability to my operations.
Ms. Reynolds will help eliminate them from the tournament.
When they turn up dead—tragic accidents during the storm—she'll be the common denominator.
The woman who knocked them out of play before their deaths. "
"And if she refuses to cooperate?"
Vega pulled up another file—deepfake videos so convincing that even Webb's trained eye couldn't spot the deception. "Then Haven House dies anyway, destroyed by scandal. Either way, I win."
A knock interrupted them. Vega's head of electronic security entered, looking troubled.
"Sir, there may be an issue with surveillance. The assistant traveling with Reynolds—she's... attentive. Spotted our man at the gala, insisted on changing cars twice on the way to the airport."
Vega's eyes sharpened. "Is she going to be a problem?"
"Unknown. She's protective, well-trained for a personal assistant. Former security consultant, according to her resume."
"Everyone has a past," Vega said dismissively. "Watch them both, but Reynolds is the priority. The assistant is just doing her job—she'll be helpless once they're on my island."
Webb spoke up. "Do you want us to separate them?"
"No. It will make her feel safer, more willing to take risks." He returned to the window, dismissing them with a gesture. "By the time she realizes her assistant can't protect her from what's coming, it will be too late."
As the door closed behind his security team, Vega allowed himself a genuine smile.
Cassidy Reynolds thought she was saving children, one tournament at a time. She had no idea those same tournaments were often used to launder money from the operations she fought against. The poker world and the trafficking world were more intertwined than she could imagine.
In two days, she'd be sitting at his tournament tables. By then, she'd be his puppet, eliminating his problems. By week's end, Haven House would be finished, its rescued children scattered back into the shadows where they belonged.
"Angels shouldn't gamble," he murmured to his reflection in the window. "They always lose."
Below, staff scurried to prepare for the incoming players, unaware their employer had already chosen who would live, who would die, and who would take the fall for all of it.
The Angel of the Felt was flying straight into his web.