Page 37 of Between Passion and Revenge: Part Two
We’re just two immutable forces clashing against each other and trying to get the opposition to crack.
And it won’t fucking be me.
I lift my wrist, adjusting my watch face but also surreptitiously squeezing the gold band against my flesh to make sure I’m not stuck in a dream.
Or rather, a nightmare.
“You,” I say slowly, lifting my eyes and tasting the word like it's poison, “want me todropthe Keystone Financial deal?”
He gives a slow, deliberate nod, his gaze never wavering.
No shame. No hesitation.
As if he didn’t leave me to pick up the pieces of my life almost a decade ago. As if he has the right toownanything tied to me.
The rage flares so fast, so hot, that I barely register I’m up and walking away until I’m grabbing the handle to the glass door.
“Wait, Shae. You need to stop the deal before it’s too late. You don’t have any other good choices here.”
I whirl around at that.
“Idon’t have a choice? No, I haveplentyof choices, and there will never be a time when you will be one of them, Storm Sandoval.”
My throat burns, tightens.
“Goddamn it, Shae! They’re enslaving people, sending weapons of mass destruction all over the globe. You ever stop to thinkwhythey’re selling? Why there are so many split opinions among the board? It’s because this is blood money, andthey will kill you, Shae.”
“Stop with the hyperbole!” I shout.
“This isn’t a fucking game! None of this is a game, and you’re at the center of this shit.”
I stare down at the tablet Storm shoves into my hands, my heart hammering so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs.
At first, it’s just numbers. Rows and rows of ledger entries. Nothing I haven’t seen before in the course of building Orisun.
“Who made this?” I rasp.
“Axel Webb. The best in the business.”
I hum, my eyes burning as I stare at the screen and scroll and scroll, hoping I’m misunderstanding the data in my hands.
I’m not.
In plain rows of numbers, the sum of transfers flagged tops over $400 billion, all from the last year.
I scroll faster, my breath catching in my throat as I skim the notes buried beneath the surface. Fake water projects. Fraudulent “orphan care” charities. A biotech incubator that probably doesn't exist.
Layer after layer of bullshit because?—
I scroll to the top of the screen and stare at the images: The piles of semi-automatic weapons at least fifteen feet high; the diamonds tossed carelessly into crates with a one-armed child with dead eyes standing next to the precious jewels; a shipping container filled with dirty brown and Black faces.
Terrified faces.
Children.
And all of it...apparently tied back to the business I just gave half a billion dollars to.
He’s somehow in the middle of this horror I’ve walked into.
