Page 58

Bella

"Holy shit," Ethan breathes, his eyes scanning the page for the third time. "This is it, Bella. This is the fucking key."

The loft's exposed bulbs cast harsh shadows across the scattered papers covering my dining table.

After the frantic drive to retrieve Ethan's laptop from his hotel room and back to my place, we've barely moved from this spot.

My back aches from leaning forward, but the adrenaline coursing through my veins won't let me rest.

Project Cerberus. The name keeps jumping out from the pages, alongside account numbers, offshore holdings, and cryptic references to something called "Omega." I don't understand half of what I'm reading, but Ethan's feverish intensity tells me everything I need to know.

"Look at this," he says, tapping a finger against a sequence of numbers. "These are routing codes for Cayman accounts. And these—" his finger slides to another set of figures, "—these match the pattern we've been trying to crack for weeks."

I squint at the yellowed paper, trying to make sense of the strings of numbers and letters. "How do you know this is what we need?"

Ethan's fingers fly across the keyboard, inputting sequences from the paper into his decryption program. The screen flickers, lines of code running faster than I can process.

"Remember how I told you we needed more than just the numbers?

We needed context, something to anchor the pattern?

" His voice vibrates with barely contained excitement.

"Every 'Protocol Echo' entry has a corresponding 'Cerberus' phase—that's what Ares and I discovered.

But we couldn't make sense of the Omega channels because we were missing the cipher. "

He holds up the paper, his smile sharp enough to cut glass. "This isn't just any list of numbers, Bella. This is Theodore's personal encryption key—the master code that unlocks everything. The one thing he never digitizes because it's too dangerous to have in the system."

The screen suddenly changes, encrypted files transforming into readable documents before our eyes.

"Holy..." I breathe as spreadsheets, bank statements, and transaction records fill the screen.

"Exactly." Ethan's eyes meet mine, fierce with determination. "Your grandmother didn't just find a random piece of paper. She found the master key to Theodore's entire shadow operation. No wonder he was willing to destroy lives to get it back."

My heart hammers against my ribs as I watch years of Theodore's carefully hidden corruption unfold on the screen.

"What exactly are we looking at here?" I ask, gesturing to the laptop.

Ethan runs a hand through his already disheveled hair. "From what I can piece together? Money laundering, embezzlement, corporate espionage—the works. He's been siphoning funds from Saint Industries' charitable foundations into personal accounts for years."

As I let that sink in, my mind starts to piece things together.

"Wells tried to access these files when my grandmother caught him in Theodore's office," I whisper, the pieces finally clicking into place.

My mind races through the entries in her diary, seeing them in a new light.

"But when he left in a hurry, he left this piece of paper.

And when he found out what he lost, he got scared.

Because if my grandmother would tell Theodore about finding Wells in his office behind his computer, he'd be in serious trouble. So my grandmother became a liability."

Ethan's expression darkens. "And Olivia gave Wells the perfect opportunity when she asked him to help her with the jewelry theft setup."

"But why kill Wells later?" I ask.

"My guess?" Ethan's mouth twists in disgust. "Wells got greedy.

He probably threatened to expose everything he knew if Theodore didn't pay up.

That would explain the two million payment a month after the 'theft'—not a bonus for a job well done, but hush money.

" He shakes his head. "What Wells didn't realize is that people like Theodore Saint don't stay under anyone's thumb for long.

It's easier to make the person causing the problem disappear than to keep paying them off. "

A cold fury settles in my chest, crystallizing into something hard and unbreakable. All these years, all that pain and loss—because my grandmother was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

Ethan's phone buzzes sharply against the table, making us both jump. He glances at the screen, his expression shifting from concentration to grim determination.

"I need to make a call," he says, already standing. "Don't move."

I watch as he paces the length of my loft, phone pressed to his ear, voice too low for me to catch more than fragments. "...yes, I'm sure... no, we have the actual codes... need to move fast..."

My heart hammers against my ribs, each beat a thunderous reminder of what's at stake. This isn't just about vindication anymore—it's about Ares. About freeing him from the prison his parents have constructed around him. About giving us both a chance at the future that was stolen from us.

When Ethan returns, there's a new energy about him, a coiled tension that has my own muscles tightening in response. His eyes hold a fierce, almost predatory focus I've never seen before.

"I've got a contact in the FBI," he says without preamble. "They've been looking into the Saints for years, but never found anything substantial that would stick."

"Until now," I whisper, my voice barely audible over the roaring in my ears.

Ethan nods, running both hands through his hair. "They want everything—your grandmother's diaries, the encryption key, all the files we've decrypted. They're sending someone tomorrow morning."

My stomach lurches, hope and terror colliding with such force I feel physically ill. "And if it's not enough?" The question claws its way out of my throat. "What if they can't make it stick? What if Theodore finds a way out, like he always does?"

The thought of failure—of coming this close only to watch the Saints slip away again—makes my breath catch painfully in my chest. Worse still is the thought of what they might do to Ares if they discover what we're planning.

"Bella." Ethan grips my shoulders, forcing me to meet his gaze.

His fingers press firmly through the fabric of my sweater, anchoring me when everything else feels like it's spinning out of control.

"This is it. This is everything they've been searching for.

Theodore Saint isn't just a corrupt businessman—he's orchestrated murder, fraud, massive embezzlement.

We have the paper trail now. We have the proof.

Every secret transaction, every covered-up crime—it's all here in black and white. "

"But what about Ares?" My voice breaks on his name, the two syllables carrying the weight of everything I've ever felt for him. "What happens to him when this all comes crashing down?"

Ethan's expression softens, but his eyes remain fierce with conviction.

"It won't touch him, Red. I promise you that.

The FBI knows he's not involved—he's been kept in the dark just like everyone else.

If anything, this will free him." He releases my shoulders but maintains that intense gaze.

"You have to trust me on this. I wouldn't put him at risk—he's my brother in every way that matters. "

He takes a step back, giving me space to breathe, to think. "So what's it going to be? Are you in? Are we finally bringing down the Saints and setting Ares free from their manipulation?"

I look around my loft—at the frantic paintings lining the walls, each one born from the pain the Saints inflicted on me; at Gran's diaries stacked neatly on my bookshelf, containing the quiet observations that would help bring down an empire; at the space Ares walked through before surrendering himself to his parents' control to protect me and my friends.

The realization hits me with crystal clarity: Ares gave up his freedom for mine. He walked back into the gilded cage of Saint Industries to keep me safe. If this is our only shot—our one chance to save the man I love—I'm going to grab it with both hands.

With new steel in my voice I meet Ethan's eyes, "I'm in."

A week later I’m packing a small suitcase, hands trembling as I fold clothes and gather toiletries.

At the airport, I pause at the security checkpoint, suddenly overwhelmed by the magnitude of what we're about to do.

We're flying across the country to take down one of the most powerful families in America.

"Second thoughts?" Ethan asks, coming up beside me.

I shake my head. "Just... processing. We're really doing this."

He squeezes my shoulder gently. "We are, Red."

As we board the plane, I take one last look at Boston through the terminal windows. The city that sheltered me, that helped me rebuild after everything the Saints took from me. I silently promise to return, hopefully with the weight of the past finally lifted from my shoulders.

"I'm coming for you, Sainty," I whisper as the plane begins to taxi. "Hold on a little longer."

Ethan settles into the seat beside me, his expression uncharacteristically serious. "Are you ready for this?"

I take a deep breath. "Let's bring him home."

The flight to Los Angeles stretches endlessly, six hours of mounting tension. I stare out the window, watching clouds pass, my mind a storm of memories and strategy.

"I never stopped loving you," I whisper to nowhere and everywhere. The compass tattoo I'd trace on my skin, a silent promise to Ares.

Beside me, Ethan shifts. "We're gonna make them pay for what they did. To you, to Evelyn, to all of us."

I nod, fingers tracing the outline of where Ares's compass would be. "For Evelyn. For our future."

"Have you talked to Ares?" I ask, the question I've been avoiding finally surfacing.

Ethan's eyes meet mine. "No. We need to be a thousand percent sure before telling him anything. If this falls through..."