Page 269 of His To Erase
His voice drops, no smart-ass remark this time. “You heard me. She’s en route. The jet left forty minutes ago. He’s running her straight into the lion’s den.”
He pauses. “You’ve got an hour. Maybe less,” he adds, eyes back on the data. “My contact says they’re planning to move her into the system tonight. Once she’s verified, it’s done. Locked. You won’t get near her.”
“We’re leaving,” I snap, already crossing the room. “Tell them to fuel up.”
Travis looks up—grim now, clenching his jaw. “They’ll be expecting both of us. He knows you’ll come. If I’m with you, they’ll shut every door before you touch the ground.”
“Then I go alone.”
He doesn’t argue. He just nods once. “Fucking hell.”
Then—he stops. Eyes fixed on the screen. “Wait…”
I turn, walking back slowly. “What?”
Travis scrolls. Clicks. Clicks again. His fingers still, just long enough to hit enter. Then everything about him shifts.
“Holy shit,” he mutters, turning the screen toward me. “So, uh… turns out there’s a clause. Buried deep in the estate paperwork—like really deep. Took me three hours and an old decryption key to even get to it.”
Steven’s already glaring. “Spit it out.”
“If the heir is alive, married, and physically present on the land, they become the primary controller of the estate. Everything gets locked to them. Assets, holdings, power of transfer—all of it. But here's the kicker.”
He pauses. “The signature has to happen on the property. No remote access, no legal proxy, no workaround. It’s old blood code shit. Written before digital records were even a thing.”
Silence.
“That’s why he hasn’t killed her,” I say quietly.
Travis nods. “Nope. He’s just waiting for the wedding and the signature. Once she signs… it’s over. It’s all his.”
My jaw tightens. “She doesn’t even know what she’s holding.”
“No. But Frank does.”
He pauses. “If deceased—or missing more than five years—it defaults to the spouse of record.”
My vision narrows until there’s nothing but blood. I don’t care what I have to destroy—what I have to burn. I’ll rip that fucking island apart brick by brick before I let him put his hands on her.
I glance over and he’s staring at the screen so intensely, I almost expect the monitor to crack.
“Find what you can,” I bark, grabbing my bag. “Send me everything else.”
“Wait—” He exhales.
By the time he turns the screen, I’m already halfway to the door.
It’sin my bones now. That old rhythm. The kind of burn I spent years learning how to leash. The kind I only let out when it’s already too late for mercy.
But this isn’t a mission. This is personal.
Someone touched her. Someone took her. Laid hands on her body. Tried to control her. I saw the bruises. Even in that short, pixelated clip Frank thought was enough to break me.
They don’t get to walk away from that and keep breathing.
My phone buzzes and I answer without looking. “Talk.”
“Her grandfather’s name was Emilio Rivera,” he says.
