Page 44 of A Mistake of Worth
“No,” Gabriel agreed. “But we’re building something airtight. Once it drops, he’ll be radioactive.”
“I want him gone,” Michael said finally. “But I’ll settle for dismantling everything he’s built.”
“And that’s exactly what we’re doing.” Gabriel’s tone turned glacial. “Nikolai’s building the case. We’re going to crush them. Legally. Publicly. Forever.”
“How long?”
“A few weeks. Maybe more.”
Michael scrubbed a hand through his hair. “Until then... I’ll keep Henri safe.”
“See that you do.” Gabriel’s tone sharpened again. “And let me be very clear, Michael. If you take advantage of him, if you touch a single part of him in a way he doesn’t want...”
“You’ll burn me to the ground,” Michael finished, calm and unflinching. “I know. But you don’t need to say it.”
Gabriel was quiet for a long moment. “Send me the new number once he has it.”
“I will.”
Michael looked over at the package again, bile rising in his throat.
“Tell Henri...” Gabriel’s voice faltered, the rare crack of emotion sharp even across continents. “Tell him I’m sorry. For not having seen it sooner. For not protecting him.”
Michael swallowed hard. “I will.”
“Take care of him, Michael.”
The line went dead.
Michael stared at the phone for a long moment, thumb resting on the screen. The weight of what Gabriel had revealed settled over him. Trafficking operations, shell companies, atrocities wrapped in paperwork. Marc wasn’t just controlling Henri; he was part of something far more monstrous. The scope made his chest tight with fury.
Michael stood, pacing to the window. Outside, London hummed with its usual evening rhythm, oblivious to the conversation that had just ended. Somewhere across the Atlantic, Henri’s tormentor was conducting business as usual, probably checking his phone for messages that would never come.
The package on the nightstand seemed to pulse with malevolent energy. Michael crossed to it, picked it up, andwithout ceremony shoved it deep into the drawer. The slam of wood against wood echoed in the quiet bedroom.
Henri was still downstairs. Still working. Still trying to carry every expectation on his narrow, tired shoulders, unaware that rescue was being planned in boardrooms and law offices across two continents.
Michael exhaled through his nose, the pressure in his chest coiling tighter. If Marc ever touched Henri again, or even tried to, Michael wouldn’t call Gabriel. He wouldn’t need to.
He placed an order with the Thai place around the corner, then headed for the office. Henri looked up from his laptop when he entered, eyes shadowed but focused.
“Food’s on the way,” Michael said. “About twenty minutes.”
Henri nodded. “Thank you.” He clicked save, fingers still resting on the keyboard. “I should probably answer some of his messages first.”
“No.” Michael’s tone stayed soft, but there was steel beneath it. “You shouldn’t. We’re getting you a new phone tomorrow. New number. No more of him in your pocket.”
Henri went very still. “He won’t like that.”
“He doesn’t get a say in it.”
Henri’s hand twitched toward his pocket out of habit, but there was nothing there. No leash. No weight. His palm hovered uselessly in his lap.
“Michael...” he said quietly, eyes fixed on a spot just past the monitor. “You don’t understand. If I don’t respond, if I’m not available when he needs me...”
“Then what?” Michael stepped closer. “What’s he going to do, Henri? He’s in Porte du Cœur. You’re here. With me.”
Henri’s breath hitched. “I don’t know.”
