Page 80 of Brick's Retribution

The line goes dead, and I set the phone down with hands that want to shake.

"Well played," Amara observes. "He bought it."

"He's greedy enough to," I reply. "The commission on brokering our entry would be substantial."

"How long until he calls back?" Brick asks.

"Few hours, maybe less. Marcus doesn't like to leave money on the table."

Brick's studying me with those amber eyes that see too much. "You okay?"

The question is simple, but the concern behind it threatens to undo my composure.

"I'm worried about my father," I admit. "Still no word from him. That's not like him, even with everything that's happened. He said he would contact me, remember?"

"We have people looking into it," Amara assures me. "Discrete inquiries through our network. If something's happened to Mateo, we'll find out."

But what if it's already too late?

What if Diego's betrayal went deeper than just selling me out?

The thought of my father—difficult and distant as he is—being hurt because of me is almost unbearable.

"Hey," Brick says softly, reaching across to take my hand. "We'll figure it out. All of it."

I nod, drawing strength from his touch.

Whatever comes next, I'm not facing it alone.

"I should work on building our cover," I say, forcing myself to focus. "If we're going in as buyers, we need a believable backstory."

"Use the other office," Amara offers. "We set up a clean laptop for you yesterday. Untraceable connection."

As I stand to go, Brick rises with me. "I'll come with you."

"Don't you have prospect duties?" I tease gently.

"Yeah," he agrees. "Keeping you safe."

Amara snorts. "Smooth, prospect. Go on, both of you. I need to coordinate with our contacts anyway."

Back in the office Amara indicated, I find a setup that would make any hacker proud.

Clean laptop, encrypted connection, all the tools I need to build our cover identities.

"You know what you're doing with all this?" Brick asks, gesturing to the equipment.

"Harvard wasn't just about spreadsheets," I reply with a slight smile. "Had to learn how to hide money trails, create shell companies, all the fun stuff that keeps cartels running."

"Your father taught you well."

"He taught me to survive," I correct. "There's a difference."

I spend the next hour crafting our digital footprints—recent transfers from Torres family accounts to new shells, travel patterns that support our story, even social media posts backdated to show a gradual interest in "alternative investments."

Brick watches me work, occasionally asking questions but mostly just being a steady presence at my back.

"There," I say finally. "Imani Torres, looking to expand the family portfolio. And her bodyguard, essential for any cartel princess traveling in dangerous circles."

---