"She did not do this to herself. The agent was chemically synthesized. We're looking for an external attack. Ronda is right. You need to focus." Rosline added.
I looked at Ronda, who gave me a sharp, cold nod of tactical understanding. The fight was forgotten.
"The green drink," Tyrone whispered, instantly back on task. "Only the staff touches the South Wing fridge."
"The list of people with access to that drink is terrifyingly short," I said, my voice dropping to a lethal calm. "Tyrone. Initiate the sweep. I want the internal security cameras played back for the last 24 hours. Every single frame focused on that South Wing kitchen fridge. Every fingerprint, every glance, every moment of proximity."
I pulled Rosline aside, speaking in a low, furious whisper. "Lyle is here. My mother, Eleanor, is here. Lyle told us Sarah and the baby died in the blast. This created his vulnerability. Did he have access?"
"He's family, Jackson. Minimal, supervised access to the lounge. But we can't confirm he touched the fridge," Rosline said. "But you're forgetting something: Eleanor is here.Do not overlook her protection of her remaining son."
"Tyrone," I called out, my gaze fixed on Rosline. "I have your primary target. Lyle. And Eleanor. I want a full behavioral analysis from the moment they arrived. Cross-reference their movements with the video feed. I want to know who engineered this. And I want to know who is working with them."
I walked over to the door to the surgical suite, pausing my war for a moment.
"Tell Love," I ordered Rosline, my voice dropping to a fierce whisper. "The moment she wakes up, tell her I was never angry about the baby. Tell her I was only angry that she was alone. And tell her I'm bringing home them both home."
I slammed my fist into my palm, the cold fury returning. "Then, you tell her that the price for this attack is death. Lyle thinks he's hiding his grief and his betrayal. We're going to use his grief as a weapon."
"What's the plan, Jackson?" Tyrone asked.
"We find the leak, but we don't expose them yet. We let the enemy think they succeeded, and we make them comfortable. We will play the role of the grieving, distracted family long enough for them to make their next, fatal move. We let the enemy think they've won the battle so we can win the war. And in the meantime, Love is staying right here, safe, under lock and key. She will not step foot back in that compound until I can guarantee the water she drinks and the air she breathes is pure."
I sat in the secure waiting room, reviewing the playback on Tyrone's tablet. The surgical team had stabilised Belinda, but she was still unconscious. I was operating purely on vengeance now, the raw adrenaline of the assault giving way to cold, tactical focus.
"Zoom in on the fridge, 18:30 hours," I commanded, my voice flat. "Tyrone, analyse the behavior of everyone who entered the South Wing in that ten-minute window."
The video feed flickered. The South Wing kitchen was briefly empty. Then, the door to the secondary corridor opened, and Lyle stepped in. He wasn't wearing his tactical vest, but his movement was too fluid for a distraught man…he moved like a hunter.
He walked past the main food prep area, paused near the counter, and glanced quickly over his shoulder. He then moved directly to the small, secure fridge in the corner. He opened the door, reaching for the labeled green smoothie bottle.
"There," I whispered, my teeth grinding. "The moment of compromise."
Lyle opened the bottle. He was fast, his motions hidden by the quick tilt of his body. He replaced the cap and slid the bottle back in. He took one last, slow look at the door before calmly walking out.
"It was him," I confirmed, the realisation an icy certainty. "Not my mother. Lyle."
"Wait, Jay," Tyrone interjected, his eyes glued to the screen. "Rewind five seconds. Right before Lyle enters."
Tyrone reversed the feed. Just before Lyle entered, a figure in a cardigan—Eleanor—walked past the corridor opening. She didn't enter the kitchen. She stopped just out of frame, near the lounge archway.
"Why is she there?" I muttered. "She never leaves her room after 18:00."
Tyrone forwarded the video again, focusing on Lyle's exit. Lyle walks out of the kitchen, looking calm. He walks past the lounge archway where his mother had paused.
That's when they made the mistake.
Lyle stopped briefly, his back to the camera, before continuing down the hall. But in that second, Eleanor's hand shot out from the archway and briefly rested on Lyle's forearm…a quick, almost imperceptible squeeze. It was a gesture of silent, shared acknowledgement.
"She knew," I breathed. "She didn't do it, but she knew. She was his lookout."
Tyrone looked up, his expression grim. "They both have the same motive, Jay: stopping the cycle of danger. Lyle's grief gave him the final push, and Eleanor provided the silent cover. She's protecting her boy."
I pushed off the table, the anger replaced by a cold, surgical clarity. "The enemy is the one who suffers the deepest loss. They think they've won. We will let them enjoy their victory."
I looked at the surgical doors, then back at the tablet. "Tyrone. Initiate Operation: Family Matters. Lyle and Eleanor are to be treated with absolute, deceptive normalcy. No increased surveillance, no changes to their routine. But I want a full-spectrum jammer placed on their phones.They just sealed their own fate."
The shock of the video footage—Lyle's calculated strike and my mother's silent complicity—had hardened my resolve into something cold and terrifying. They thought they had crippled me. They were wrong. They had only handed me the perfect weapon.
I ended the video feed, scrubbing the images from the tablet's memory. "Tyrone, the trap begins now. Operation: Family Matters is active."
"Understood, Jay. What are the parameters?" Tyrone asked, his professional calm firmly in place.
"The objective is twofold: one, guarantee the safety of Love and the baby, and two, use the internal threats to draw out the external enemy. Lyle is still talking to the General's network. He's our bridge."
I walked over to the small sink and scrubbed the last traces of Belinda's blood from my hands, the action symbolic of washing away my own guilt and refocusing on the enemy.
"First, Absolute Isolation. No one, not even Rosline, is to know we have confirmed the identities of the attackers. We maintain the façade that the compound is searching for a phantom external breach. Rosline and Ronda believe the attack was a sophisticated strike by the network using an unknown delivery method."
"What about Lyle and Eleanor?" Tyrone asked.
"They get the VIP treatment. We sell the lie that the attack was a failure, that Belinda is critical but stable, and that the compound is completely safe now. Lyle must believe he succeeded in creating a miscarriage, and that my focus is shattered. I want their routine to be untouchable. No extra guards on them. No change in meal service. We make them feel secure, triumphant, and neglected."
I pointed to a secure comms unit. "Second, The Bait. Lyle has a primary communication protocol with the General's network clearly…the same one he used to confirm my movements. We are going to feed that channel a fabricated data set. We will leak highly sensitive, but ultimately worthless, 'vulnerability' data for the compound…a faulty encryption key for the main vault or a weakness in the South Wing's vent system."
"And Eleanor?"
"Eleanor is the control element. Her desperation to keep Lyle safe from the consequences of the attack will make her reckless. She will reinforce Lyle's belief that he's still a valuable asset. She will encourage his next step to finish the job."
I looked toward the surgical doors, my rage a dull, constant thrum. "The General's network will see Lyle's confirmed 'miscarriage' and my father's death as a crippling double-blow. They'll believe I'm distracted, grieving, and tactically compromised. They will accelerate their plans, targeting what he thinks is the weakened link…the South Wing. Lyle will be ordered to confirm the weaknesses we fed him. And when he does, we will be waiting."
I paused, realising the terrible sacrifice this required. "Tyrone, the hardest part: I will not see Love until the trap is sprung. My distance will sell the lie that I'm too distraught and focused on security to be by her side. Rosline will manage her care, but my absence is critical. Lyle has to see me as the broken warlord."
"Understood, Boss. It's the ultimate sacrifice," Tyrone conceded. "You're selling your soul to save her life."
"I sold it years ago, Tyrone," I stated, my gaze returning to the clean white doors protecting the two lives I valued above all others. "Now, I'm just putting it to work."