Chapter 11 - The Ashes of Halden Manor
Three weeks after the arrests of Celeste and Richard Halden, the corporate world was still reeling. Halden Group had officially been restructured under Cross Meridian Capital, with me installed as the majority shareholder and active CEO. The tabloids dubbed me the 'Ice Queen of Wall Street,' printing front-page spreads of my takeover alongside glossy photographs of Adrian and me leaving federal court.
I stood on the balcony of the newly renovated Halden penthouse—my penthouse now—watching the sunrise over the harbor. The wind carried the salty scent of the ocean, reminding me of the night I had climbed through a shattered bathroom window, barefoot and bleeding.
A pair of warm, strong arms wrapped around my waist from behind, pulling me back against a solid chest. Adrian rested his chin gently on my shoulder, inhaling the scent of my hair.
"You're up early," he murmured, his deep voice vibrating against my spine.
"I have a shareholder meeting at nine, and the quarterly audit for the new waterfront development needs final approval," I replied, leaning back into his embrace, letting myself absorb his strength for just a moment.
"Let the board wait," Adrian whispered, turning me around in his arms so I was facing him. His dark eyes searched my face with intense scrutiny. "You've been working eighteen-hour days for three weeks straight. When was the last time you slept more than four hours?"
"When I was hiding in your guest suite," I teased lightly, though a faint smile touched my lips.
Adrian didn't smile. His expression turned serious, his thumb gently tracing my jawline. "Celeste's trial starts in two months. Her defense lawyers are trying to cut a deal, claiming she was coerced by mysterious third parties in overseas syndicates—the very people your father was investigating before he died."
My smile vanished. The warning Celeste had screamed as she was dragged out of the gala echoed in my mind: <i>'The people we worked with... they'll hunt you down until the day you die!'</i>
"You think she wasn't bluffing," I said quietly.
"People like Celeste don't operate in a vacuum," Adrian replied, his voice dropping into a dangerous register. "They answer to someone higher up the chain. And whoever funded their offshore accounts isn't going to let two billion dollars in assets slip away quietly because a federal prosecutor put two criminals in handcuffs."
Before I could respond, my encrypted work phone buzzed loudly on the glass table inside. I slipped out of Adrian's arms and walked over to pick it up. The screen displayed an incoming text from an unknown, untraceable number.
May you like
I tapped the message open. Attached was a single photograph taken from outside Cross Tower—a picture of Adrian and me standing on this exact balcony, illuminated by the morning sun. Below the photo was a single line of text:
<i>'Nice view. Enjoy it while it lasts.'</i>
