Smoke and Splinters

Chapter 9 – Smoke and Splinters

The storm didn't wait.

Within hours, the conference made headlines across Europe: "Whistleblower Exposes Legal Queenpin", "Myra Solarin's Empire Shaken by Family Betrayal", and "Stolen Ledgers and Leaked Truths: The Collapse of a Dynasty."

Amara sat in the back seat of a black sedan, watching the chaos unfold through her phone. News clips, angry statements, quick denials. The world was spinning, but she was still.

Silent.

Liana sat beside her, eyes darting across her tablet. "Half the board members from Solarin Industries have already started issuing apologies or backing out. She's bleeding support fast."

"And the other half?" Amara asked.

"They're running scared—or plotting something worse."

Mason drove through the Berlin traffic, jaw clenched. "She'll retaliate. She has too many people on her payroll to take this quietly."

Michael leaned forward from the passenger seat. "She won't just come after Amara. We're all targets now."

Amara felt it too. That chill.

The price of truth was always blood.

They returned to the flat that night, and Elias was already there, sitting alone, arms resting on his knees. He didn't look up right away when Amara entered.

"Police called me," he said. "I'm being investigated for my old connection to Myra. Disbarment might be the least of it."

Amara stood across from him. "You lied. And still, I needed you."

He looked up then. "I meant it, you know. Every word I said to you—when I told you you were stronger than what happened to you. That you didn't deserve what they did. That you were worth fighting for."

She said nothing.

Because she believed him.

But that didn't undo the lie.

"There's something else," Elias said after a beat. "I think I know who West really meant with her last words."

Amara's heart skipped. "What?"

"She told you, 'Tell him. Don't trust anyone.'"

He looked at Michael.

"West and I were close. But toward the end... she didn't trust everyone around her. There was someone in her circle—someone feeding information to Myra. I thought it was me. But it wasn't."

Michael froze.

"You knew about the ledger," Elias continued. "You helped her set up safe houses. You were the only one who knew where it was—and you never tried to bring it forward."

Michael's face darkened. "Careful."

"Tell her the truth," Elias said. "You were her friend. But you were also afraid. And maybe you told Myra something that helped get West killed."

Silence thickened.

Amara turned slowly to Michael. "Is it true?"

He didn't answer right away. Then—

"I didn't know they'd kill her. I thought I was buying time. Keeping her safe. But I told Myra where she'd be—once. Just once. And that was enough."

Amara's chest ached.

"You were the 'him,'" she whispered. "Not Elias. You."

Michael lowered his head. "I've been trying to make it right ever since."

Amara stepped back, eyes glinting with unshed rage. "You can't. You don't get to."

She walked out into the night air, breathing hard.

Liana followed, silently.

And Elias—he didn't chase her this time.

Because some wounds weren't meant to be healed.

Not yet.

They thought they were being careful.

After the leak, the team kept a low profile. Phones were encrypted. Movements were staggered. No one stayed in one place too long.

But somehow, they still found her.

It started with Michael.

He was supposed to meet Liana at a quiet café two blocks from the safehouse. He never showed.

At first, they thought it was traffic. Then maybe a detour. But two hours later, when his phone stopped ringing and his GPS went dark, the unease turned sharp.

"He's gone," Mason said, pacing. "This isn't a delay. Someone took him."

Liana looked pale. "No ransom demand. No message."

"That is the message," Elias muttered. "They don't want money. They want silence."

Amara stared at the table, jaw clenched. "Myra?"

Elias nodded slowly. "She's hitting back. But she's smarter than fire and explosions. She's showing us how easily she can reach in and pull one of us out—without leaving a trace."

The room was quiet.

Then Amara stood.

"She wants us scared. She wants me scared."

"You should be," Liana said gently. "She's not bluffing anymore."

But Amara wasn't trembling.

"No," she said, fire low in her voice. "I've been scared. This—this is rage."

Elias walked over, lowering his voice. "We need to be smart. If we rush in, we risk losing more than Michael."

"I'm not rushing," Amara said. "I'm calculating."

She picked up the notebook West had left behind—scattered with clues, half-written names, and one line she hadn't been able to forget.

"If they don't kill you, they'll cage you."

It wasn't just a warning. It was a pattern. Myra didn't always kill. She erased. She removed.

"Mason," Amara said, "get to the old contacts in U.S The ones West trusted. See if any of them have heard whispers—someone being held, moved, bought."

"On it."

"Liana," she continued, "get the files ready for another drop. If she doesn't return Michael by midnight, we drop the second wave."

"What if that gets him hurt?"

Amara looked her dead in the eye. "She won't. Not yet. She's using him to paralyze us. So we do the opposite—we move faster."

Later that night, the call finally came.

A distorted voice, low and taunting.

"If you want to see your friend alive again," the caller said, "stop talking. Take the files down. Or next time, you'll be the one that disappears."

Amara didn't flinch.

"Tell Myra she made one mistake," she said, calm and clear. "She didn't take me."

She hung up and turned to the team.

"We're done hiding."