Rhys and Melanie spent the remaining hours of the night in the office, the exhaustion from the betrayal instantly overridden by a cold, relentless focus. With Adrian Cole neutralized, their attention turned entirely to Chloe Vance, the architect of the sabotage.
"Adrian was a vulnerability, not a source of information," Melanie stated at the Bloomberg terminal. "His job was to leak the bait; he wasn't running the operation. The real intelligence is buried in the digital trail he left."
Rhys leaned over her shoulder, intensity in his eyes. "We need to find out where Adrian was sending the Kratos data. Run that IP link back to its origin."
Melanie pulled up the forensic report. "The IP was heavily obfuscated through disposable proxies. But the payload file had an identical encryption signature to the fabricated settlement memo. That is Chloe's unique fingerprint." She isolated the initial data transfer from eight weeks prior. "The endpoint for both transfers was the same: a dedicated, encrypted virtual server hosted in Iceland."
Rhys shifted to the financial side. "Chloe needs money. Adrian's bank activity will show a reward."
The report arrived: Adrian Cole had received a $500,000 payment from TerraNova Holdings Ltd., a shell corporation registered in the Cayman Islands.
Melanie cross-referenced the authorized signers on the Zurich bank account. A single name stood out: Elias Thorne. "He's an invisible man. A highly skilled Cyber Security Consultant, a fixer." She noted a recent transaction. "Two days ago, immediately after the settlement memo, a large transfer was made from TerraNova to a private bank in Monaco, Thorne's next payment."
"He's the man running the machine. And now he's in Monaco," Rhys summarized. "We're done with defense. Book a private jet."
The private jet sped toward the Mediterranean coast. They arrived at the Grand Prix Hotel and found Elias Thorne in the private cigar lounge—impeccably dressed, calculating, and alone.
Rhys approached his table.
"Mr. Thorne? TerraNova Holdings, Credit Suisse Zurich, and the half-million-dollar payment you routed to Adrian Cole," Rhys countered, placing an envelope on the marble table. "This envelope contains proof of a six-figure wire transfer made into your Monaco account exactly three hours ago. Not from TerraNova, but from me."
Thorne picked up the envelope, his expression turning dangerous. "That's a compelling, if deeply unethical, opening bid, Mr…?"
"Rhys Kallen," Rhys finished smoothly. "My offer: Double your current retainer from Chloe Vance, plus full indemnity. Tell us what you built for her and how she communicates with you."
"Chloe Vance didn't give you a job, Mr. Thorne," Melanie interjected. "She used you. That transfer two days ago was your final payment. If this operation goes south, she will throw you to the wolves. Take the deal."
Thorne extinguished his cigar, recognizing the superior leverage. "The server's location is irrelevant now. The core operation isn't digital. She stored the real blueprint in an offline dead drop. A physical location. She has an apartment in Paris—an old, off-the-books trust fund property. I can give you the address, and the number she calls me from."
Rhys took the satellite phone from Thorne after he made the check-in call.
"It's done," Rhys said into the phone, his voice flat.
A beat of silence. Then, the familiar, husky voice came through the receiver. "Thank you, darling,"
Chloe Vance purred, the term of endearment a deliberate knife twist.
"Tell Melanie I hope she's enjoying my view from the top of the firm. It won't last."
The line clicked dead. "She's playing games, Rhys. She knows we're coming to Paris. It's not a trap. It's a stage. She wants us there."
Rhys reached across the table and covered her hand with his, a fierce promise in his eyes. "Then let's give her a show."
The taxi navigated the cobbled streets of the 6th Arrondissement in Paris. The address led them to a stately, Haussmann-era building.
"She's expecting us," Rhys stated, holding the security key Thorne had mailed.
"Everything she has done is a triangle—you, me, and her manipulation in the middle," Melanie said.
Rhys turned, his hand finding hers. "Then we break the geometry," he said, his voice low. "I'm done letting her define the space between us. You're the only thing that's been real. There is only you."
They stepped into the salon, which was empty. On the table was a single, pristine white envelope. Melanie stopped Rhys. "It's a note, not a device."
Rhys opened it. Chloe's elegant handwriting read:
"The Kratos data was the bait. The settlement memo was the distraction. The real target has always been much, much closer to home. Look on the desk, behind the painting of the harbor. You'll find the only thing that matters now. P.S. Take care of him, Melanie. He always needed a strong hand. C."
Rhys lifted the painting, revealing an encrypted flash drive and another, smaller envelope. He opened the second envelope. Inside were two documents: A signed resignation letter from Chloe Vance predating the Kratos scandal, and a highly confidential memo detailing a corrupt $50 million investment made by the firm's Senior Partner, the Chairman of the Board, Richard Sterling, into a fraudulent overseas mining operation. It was irrefutable proof of massive, systemic fraud at the highest level of the firm.
"This is impossible... Sterling," Rhys whispered.
Melanie quickly scanned the proof. "Chloe didn't create the betrayal. She found an existing, much bigger one, Sterling's fraud, and used the Kratos data as a smokescreen to force us into a corner!"
Rhys held up the flash drive. "She's forcing me to choose between defending my integrity (exposing Sterling and destroying the firm's leadership) or defending my wallet (using the Kratos data to fix the financial damage and letting the fraud go unpunished)."
Melanie stepped toward him, framing his face with her hands. "We stop playing her game. We don't choose between two evils. We choose ourselves. We do what is right. You've built your life on honesty, Rhys. We expose the rot. We burn it down and build something better. Together."
Rhys took a breath, the weight of the decision finally dissolving under the heat of Melanie's unwavering belief. He nodded, a definitive, resolute movement.
"Sterling goes down. We leak the truth."
He brought her close, his arms wrapping around her waist. Their kiss was a chaotic clash of relief, adrenaline, and long-denied desire—a passionate, urgent vow sealed in the opulent Parisian hideout of their enemy. It was the end of the corporate war and the explosive, terrifying beginning of everything else