Viola's POV
I confirmed the address—the nearby shipping depot—to the car service app on my phone, making sure the location data was visible if anyone decided to check. It was a perfect piece of camouflage. I grabbed my blazer, slipped the tiny skull-emblazoned flash drive deeper into my pocket, and headed out, the adrenaline now a cold, familiar burn in my veins.
The taxi dropped me off two blocks from the old industrial zone. It was a grimy, deserted part of the city, perfectly fitting the backdrop for a crime boss's operation. I checked my watch: 2:55 PM. Right on schedule. I started walking quickly, rehearsing my excuse for any unexpected encounters: "Sake compliance inspection, executive orders."
My target, 419 Bridge Street, was coming into view—a massive, windowless structure, silent and ominous. My heart was pounding, but my focus was absolute. I was about to walk into Lodge's lair.
Just as I reached the edge of the abandoned block, a sleek, black Mercedes sedan…identical to Kyle Lodge's personal car…slid silently to the curb right beside me.
The back window hummed down. Behind the wheel was Lodge's driver, the massive, impassive man who never spoke.
"Miss. Viola," the driver said, his voice a low, unexpected rumble. "Mr. Lodge requests that you conduct the compliance inspection at the 411 building. He apologises for the mix-up and has had the crate rerouted."
My stomach dropped. He knew. He was watching, monitoring my every move, and had intercepted me at the absolute last second. I hadn't made a move that wasn't already calculated into his twisted plan.
I forced a look of professional annoyance. "I specifically requested the usual lockbox location. Tell Mr. Lodge I don't appreciate the schedule change."
"Mr. Lodge was quite insistent, Miss. Viola," the driver replied, his gaze unreadable. "He mentioned that the Head of Editorial Integrity cannot afford a customs delay on her first major assignment."
He opened the back door with a silent electronic click. The message was clear…Get in the car, or face the consequences.
I slid into the plush backseat, furious at my own predictable failure. Lodge wasn't just my boss…he was the puppeteer.
The car moved a few blocks down and stopped outside the 411 building, a much smaller, less threatening commercial office. A courier was already waiting on the sidewalk with a small wooden crate.
I spent the next twenty minutes going through the motions, checking bottling seals and labels for the sake shipment. It was utterly ridiculous, meticulously mundane work—the kind of meaningless task Lodge inflicted on people, reinforcing the lie that this was all just a publishing house.
Finally, I slammed the crate shut. "The compliance is met. Thank the courier."
As I reached for the door to hail another cab, the driver's voice cut in. "Mr. Lodge requires your immediate presence at the office, Miss. Viola. He wishes to discuss your assessment of the mole's identity."
I stared at the closed door, anger boiling over. He had saved me from stepping into his death trap, only to drag me back to his gilded cage, reinforcing his total control. I was right back where I started…in his car, on his time, knowing more secrets than were safe, and hating him more than ever.
I took a deep, steadying breath. Fine. Let's talk about the mole.
Kyle's POV
I watched the live feed on my tablet as the driver pulled away from the 411 building. Viola, rigid and furious, was perfectly centered in the back seat. She hadn't found the warehouse…she'd found a crate of expensive Japanese rice wine. And she understood every implication of the exchange.
I put the tablet down, savoring the feeling of total control. Marshall had been pacing the length of my office for the last ten minutes, agitated by the risk I'd just taken.
"You should have let her see the warehouse, Kyle," Marshall argued, running a hand through his hair. "She would have been terrified, compliant, and focused purely on saving her own skin."
"Compliance is boring, Marshall. And fear is temporary," I corrected, leaning back in my chair. "Fear breeds mistakes. I need her focused, not panicked. I need her operating at maximum efficiency. By intercepting her, I've taught her three valuable lessons:"
I ticked them off on my fingers. "One: I am always watching. Two: I can stop her at any moment. And three: I saved her life. That last one is crucial. She may hate me, but I just proved I am the only person who knows what game she's playing and ensures she doesn't lose it permanently."
Marshall shook his head. "She's going to come back twice as angry."
"Exactly," I said, a slow, predatory smile spreading across my face. "Her hatred is the engine, Marshall. Her intelligence is the steering wheel. And her ambition is the fuel. I gave her the 'Integrity Review' to find the mole. She's found the mole's address, and now she's coming back to hand me a neatly packaged solution to my security breach."
I picked up the phone. "Order two black coffees to my office. And have Gail bring in the executive file on our latest acquisition target. We need to look busy."
The moment the door opened and Viola was escorted in by the driver, the air in the room thickened. She was an absolute vision of controlled rage. She marched straight up to my desk, bypassing Marshall entirely.
"The sake is compliant, Mr. Lodge," she announced, placing her hands flat on the mahogany surface, her blue eyes blazing. "Now, let's discuss the mole. You knew I would go to 419 Bridge Street, and you intercepted me. Why?"
I didn't answer the question. I simply smiled, a genuine, amused smile, enjoying the fire in her eyes. "You're late, Head of Editorial Integrity. But I'll forgive it, since you seem to have a talent for fieldwork. Did you bring me a solution?"
I pushed the 'Integrity Review' file across the desk toward her. "The clock is still ticking, Viola. Who is the network ghost?"
She didn't flinch. She was magnificent. She was exactly where I wanted her…trapped in a room, forced to choose between the criminal truth and the professional lie. Her hatred was my favorite kind of leverage.
I like them feisty.