The knock came again.
Kelly didn't move.
Her eyes remained fixed on the motel door as if staring hard enough could make it disappear. Her phone lay face-up on the bed, Don Pedro's last message glowing like a threat etched in fire.
If you betray me, you die.
Her breath came shallow. She slid off the bed and reached for the lamp on the nightstand, gripping it like a weapon.
The knock came a third time.
"Kelly," a male voice called. "Open up."
She didn't recognize it.
Her pulse thundered in her ears.
Slowly, she backed toward the bathroom, locked herself inside, and pressed her ear to the door. Her mind raced.
This is it, she thought. I've been erased.
Her phone vibrated again.
UNKNOWN: They're not here for you. Not yet.
Her knees nearly buckled.
Across town, Aham watched the security feed in silence. Kelly's fear was no longer theoretical-it was visible, real, unraveling.
"She's cracking," Clara said quietly.
Aham nodded. "Fear makes people honest."
Jane Smith leaned forward. "Or suicidal."
"We'll catch her before that," Aham replied.
The men at Kelly's door were not Don Pedro's.
They were reporters.
Someone had leaked just enough information to raise questions-anonymous tips, suspicious asset transfers, offshore accounts bearing Don Pedro's fingerprints.
Kelly opened the door cautiously.
A camera flashed.
"Ms. Armstrong!" a woman called. "Do you have any comment on Don Pedro's financial dealings?"
Kelly froze.
She slammed the door shut.
Inside, her phone buzzed relentlessly.
DON PEDRO: Do not speak.
DON PEDRO: Disappear now.
She slid down the wall, hands over her mouth.
Disappear.
That was his solution.
That evening, Don Pedro watched his empire wobble for the first time.
Banks requested explanations. Board members delayed meetings. One government contract was quietly suspended pending "internal review."
He poured himself a drink but didn't taste it.
"Jane Smith," he muttered. "You should have stayed buried."
Clara held a press draft in her hands, carefully redacted.
"Leak this tomorrow," she said. "Just the shell companies."
Aham studied it. "And Kelly?"
"She'll run," Clara replied. "Or she'll talk."
Aham exhaled slowly. "Either way, Don Pedro loses control."
Kelly packed her bag in a frenzy. Cash. Passport. The vial-still there, unused.
She hesitated, then left it behind.
She didn't need poison anymore.
She needed leverage.
Her phone buzzed.
KELLY: I know things.
Three dots appeared.
Then vanished.
Finally:
DON PEDRO: You know nothing.
Kelly smiled for the first time in days.
She sent one word back.
KELLY: Jane.
The response was immediate.
DON PEDRO: Where are you?
Kelly shut the phone off.
At midnight, Don Pedro received a call from an old contact.
"Your name came up," the man said carefully. "International regulators are watching."
Don Pedro's jaw tightened.
"This is harassment."
"This is exposure," the man replied. "And it's just beginning."
Aham stood on the balcony as dawn broke, Clara beside him.
"This is working," she said.
"Yes," he replied. "But he won't fall quietly."
Jane Smith watched the city skyline from a distance, her expression grim.
"He's cornered," she said. "That's when men like Don Pedro burn everything."
In the shadows of an underground parking structure, Kelly met a stranger who handed her a burner phone.
A single message waited.
JANE SMITH: You want immunity? Earn it.
Kelly swallowed hard.
For the first time, she wasn't sure which side she was on.
And for the first time-
Don Pedro's grip was slipping.
---