Page 38 of Grayson

A controlled leak mentioned a meeting that would never occur, supported by a reservation under an old surname Jennifer had once used. The bait was simple, but it relied on Kyle’s certainty that he was still the cleverest person in the room.

Kyle arrived in Strasbourg after midnight and parked several streets from the hotel. He watched the entrance from the shadow of a closed bakery, noting taxis, guests, and a delivery van left idling too long. Nothing looked wrong, which troubled him more than obvious danger would have.

He sent a message to the hotel desk claiming to be Jennifer’s solicitor and requesting that an envelope be placed in her room. Inside was a single page accusing her of fraud and promising public exposure if she testified.

Kyle expected panic; instead, the envelope was photographed, sealed, and added to the case against him.

Before sunrise, two of his remaining partners severed contact. One transferred control of a company to independent counsel, banning him from using any of their trucks for delivery. Another sent Interpol a statement explaining that Kyle had threatened to destroy reputations whenever loyalty weakened.

Kyle felt the balance shift.

The influence he had mistaken for authority had depended on secrecy, money, and the belief that he could reach anyone. Now his accounts were blocked, his aliases exposed, and his messages preserved by people preparing to save themselves.

He abandoned the sedan and crossed the city on foot, moving through narrow streets toward the river. Somewhere nearby, church bells marked the hour. He imagined Jennifer behind a guarded window, calm enough to speak his name while officials recorded every word.

For the first time, he considered leaving Europe entirely. But departure meant surrendering the future he had built in his mind, the empire of compliant partners and obedient executives. He could not accept that his promised reign had never been more than a fantasy sustained by other people’s fear.

A final lead drew him to a rented apartment above a quiet bookshop. The name on the mailbox belonged to one of Jennifer’s former classmates.

Kyle climbed the stairs slowly, listening for movement beyond the door, and found only an empty room with a chair facing the window.

On the chair rested a printed copy of the message he had sent to the hotel. Beneath it was a note stating that Jennifer’s testimony had already been preserved in multiple jurisdictions. Whether he found her or not, the truth no longer depended on her standing alone.

Kyle backed toward the door as footsteps sounded in the stairwell. He moved to the window, but the courtyard below was enclosed and the neighboring roofs were too far apart. The trap had not been designed to catch a strategist; it had been designed to contain a frightened man with no allies left.

The knock came once, firm and controlled. Kyle looked again at the paper on the chair, realizing that every threat had strengthened Jennifer’s credibility and every escape had mapped the boundaries of his network.

Looking through the peephole, he realized it was only a maid. Opening the door, she smiled and asked if he needed extra towels. He shook his head, shoving past her and running outside. He ran until he could no longer catch his breath.

The entire time he was running, he was trying to grasp how this happened. How had she gained the upper hand? He called the last contact that might help him.

“I need your help. You owe me,” he said calmly.

“I owe you nothing Lacroix,” said the heavily accented voice. “And I rarely help dead men.”

“Why?! Why are you all so damn afraid to help with one fucking woman?” he screamed into the phone.

“Because she isn’t just any woman. You should have checked that before you started this. You’ve signed your death warrant.” The line went dead and Lacroix had never felt so defeated in all his life. Not when he was on the streets alone as a kid. Not when his parents disowned him. Not even when his friends died in that club fire.

Then he sat on a bench in a park. Wondering what the fuck he was going to do now.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Jennifer sat on the bench on the island of animals, smiling as they wandered around, as if on a Sunday stroll talking among friends. Alvin was at her feet, happy for her return. Semu stood behind her as if guarding her from someone or something.

“May I join you?” asked Kate.

“Of course,” she smiled. “You’re still as beautiful as ever.”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “You still look like that sweet little girl that we all held not so long ago.”

They said nothing for a few long moments, both just enjoying the sunlight, warm breeze and animals circling around them.

“You know, Jennifer, I worked for a secret agency when I left here as well.” Jennifer stared at the older woman, waiting for her to continue. “It was wrong of me to not tell everyone. Especially Cam. I had his son. Our son and I hid that from him.”

“Why?” she frowned.

“Cam was wild when he was younger. I heard things that he hadn’t really said, making up stories in my own mind. I thought he didn’t want a family. That he was just fooling around. I was so wrong. I didn’t trust him and it nearly cost me my son.