Page 45 of Deadly Legacy
Nikon’s response came seconds later:
Noted. Stay calm. Proceed.
“Wallace, move to the auction tables,” Reuben instructed through the comms. “We need to shift focus.”
In the camera feed, Wallace reached the charity auction display tables, his movements fluid as he examined a decorative vase with apparent interest. The string quartet in the corner had switched to a livelier piece, the vibration of the cello barely perceptible through the floor of the corporate box.
Stepan leaned over Reuben’s shoulder, his bulk casting a shadow across the monitors. “Andrey’s hands.”
Reuben zoomed in on the feed. Andrey’s hands trembled as he poured champagne, the bottle hovering a fraction too long over each glass.
“He’s nervous,” Reuben murmured. Reuben tapped his earpiece. “Change of plans. Wallace, engage with the Quantize Guard founders near the auction. Make sure you’re within Dmitrii’s sightline.”
On the screens, Wallace smiled warmly at the Quantize Guard team, his body language shifting to project confidence and familiarity. He angled himself so that Dmitrii could observe the interaction.
“It’s working.” Reuben tracked Dmitrii’s movements on the screen. “He’s taking the bait.”
A light knock at the door interrupted his concentration. Stepan moved swiftly, hand reaching beneath his jacket before recognizing the knocking pattern.
The door opened to reveal one of their security team members, who slipped inside and handed Stepan a note.
“Dmitrii’s men have taken positions at all service exits,” Stepan said, passing the note to Reuben. “They’re checking staff credentials more thoroughly than usual.”
Reuben nodded, eyes returning to the monitors where Wallace continued his performance, planting carefully crafted misinformation that would make its way back to Dmitrii.
“Wallace has made contact with all our targets,” Reuben said to Stepan, tracking his father’s movements across the ballroom floor. “Our disinformation will flow exactly where we need it.”
Stepan nodded, his attention fixed on Andrey. “He keeps looking at the service exit.”
On the security feed, Andrey moved between tables with increasing agitation. His hand trembled as he “stumbled” near a group of politicians, jostling their table just enough to draw attention.
Reuben recognized a pattern; first the dropped napkin near Wallace’s position, then the upended water glass by the service door, and now this. Each “accident” brought Andrey closer to the hidden corridor, where exchanges could happen unobserved.
“Three clumsy moments in twenty minutes,” Reuben murmured, leaning closer to the monitor. “From someone trained to move like a ghost.”
A message from Nikon flashed on the tablet:
Woman entering east door. Resembles Charlotte. Possible leverage play?
Reuben’s stomach tightened as he scanned the feeds, his fingers freezing over the tablet. The woman’s honey-blonde hair was styled exactly as his mother had always worn it - swept back to showcase the delicate pearls he remembered from childhood dinners.
Her posture carried that same finishing-school perfection, spine straight as she navigated the crowd with practiced grace. Even from this angle, he caught glimpses of her old mannerisms; the way she touched her collar when passing acquaintances, how she tilted her head just so while accepting a glass of champagne.
It had been years since Reuben had last seen her, standing silently beside Wallace as his father disowned him. The sophisticated society wife, choosing propriety over her only son.
Now here she was, another piece in Dmitrii’s game. Reuben forced himself to breathe slowly, to view her through tactical eyes rather than personal ones, though his hands had begun to shake slightly against the edge of the console.
“Angle’s wrong for positive ID,” he managed, his voice professional despite the bitter taste in his mouth.
“Dmitrii’s making a call.” Stepan pointed to a different monitor.
The crime boss had stepped away from his table, phone pressed to his ear. Dmitrii’s expression remained pleasant, but his free hand curled into a fist at his side.
“We need to move faster,” Reuben decided. “Stepan, coordinate with security for the diversion. Standard Protocol Delta.”
Stepan’s eyebrows rose slightly... the equivalent of shock from anyone else. “That will create significant disruption.”
“That’s the point.” Reuben’s fingers drummed against the table edge, mind calculating variables. “We need a moment of chaos. I think Andrey’s trying to tell us something, and Wallace needs to be in a position to receive it.”
