CHAPTER 22 - Ghosts

Isabella POV

The call came at two AM, jarring me awake from dreams of federal agents and prison cells. Damien's arm tightened around me as I reached for my phone, his body instantly alert despite the fact that we'd barely slept in the past forty-eight hours.

"Isabella Sterling," I answered, my voice rough with exhaustion.

"Ms. Sterling?" The voice was female, shaky, and completely unfamiliar. "This is Dr. Elena Vasquez. I need to see you immediately. It's about your father... and about what really happened seven years ago."

My blood turned to ice. Dr. Elena Vasquez had been Richard Sterling's personal physician for over twenty years, the woman who'd treated everything from his seasonal allergies to the heart condition that had eventually killed him. She'd also been conspicuously absent from his funeral.

"Dr. Vasquez? Where have you been? We tried to reach you when Dad died, but—"

"I've been hiding," she interrupted, her voice tight with fear. "From people who want to make sure certain secrets stay buried. But after seeing the news about your investigation, I can't stay silent anymore."

Beside me, Damien sat up, instantly alert. I put the call on speaker.

"What secrets?" I asked.

"Not over the phone. Meet me at the old clinic on Fifth Street, the one your father used to own. One hour. And Ms. Sterling? Don't trust anyone else with this information. Your life depends on it."

The line went dead, leaving us staring at each other in the darkness.

"This could be a trap," Damien said immediately. "Blackwood could be using her to—"

"Or she could have information that changes everything." I was already getting out of bed, adrenaline flooding my system. "Dr. Vasquez delivered me, Damien. She's been part of our family for decades. If she says she has secrets about my father..."

"Then we go armed and we go careful," he said grimly, reaching for his phone. "I'm calling security."

Twenty minutes later, we were driving through empty city streets toward a part of town that had seen better decades. The clinic Dr. Vasquez had mentioned was in a building my father had owned but sold years ago, now a collection of low-rent medical offices and pain management centers.

"I don't like this," Damien said for the third time, his hand resting on the concealed weapon Sarah had insisted he carry. "Everything about this screams setup."

"Maybe. But if there's even a chance she has information that could help us fight Blackwood..." I left the sentence unfinished, but we both knew what I meant. We were drowning in federal investigations and corporate warfare. Any lifeline was worth the risk.

The clinic was dark except for a single light in a third-floor window. We took the stairs slowly, Damien leading with the kind of predatory caution that reminded me he'd grown up in neighborhoods where survival meant being ready for anything.

Dr. Vasquez was waiting in what had once been an examination room, now stripped of equipment and furnished with nothing but a folding table and two chairs. She looked like she'd aged a decade since I'd last seen her – hollow-eyed, nervous, constantly checking the windows like she expected someone to come crashing through them.

"Isabella," she said, relief flooding her voice when she saw me. "Thank God you came."

"Dr. Vasquez, what's this about? What secrets were you talking about?"

"Sit down," she said, gesturing to the chairs. "What I'm about to tell you will change everything you think you know about your family."

Damien remained standing, positioning himself between me and the door with military precision. Dr. Vasquez noticed his protective stance and managed a weak smile.

"Smart man. But the danger isn't here, not tonight. It's in the truth I've been carrying for seven years."

"What truth?" I asked.

Dr. Vasquez reached into her bag and pulled out a manila envelope thick with documents.

"Your father didn't just destroy Damien Cross seven years ago," she said quietly. "He had help. Specifically, he had help from Marcus Blackwood."

The words hit me like a physical blow. "That's impossible. Dad barely knew Blackwood back then."

"Your father owed Marcus Blackwood three million dollars," Dr. Vasquez said, opening the envelope to reveal loan documents. "Gambling debts from a poker game that went very, very wrong. Marcus offered to forgive the debt in exchange for a favor."

She slid the papers across the table, and I felt my world tilt sideways as I read them. Loan agreements, payment schedules, and finally, a debt forgiveness contract dated exactly one week before Damien's arrest.

"The favor," I said quietly, "was destroying Damien."

"More than that. Marcus wanted Damien's technology, but he also wanted to test something. He wanted to see if he could manipulate corporate politics to destroy a specific target." Dr. Vasquez's voice was heavy with old guilt. "Damien Cross was a practice run for bigger games."

Damien moved closer, reading over my shoulder, his body radiating the kind of controlled violence that meant someone was about to get hurt.

"You knew," he said quietly. "You knew what they were planning and you said nothing."

"I was a coward," Dr. Vasquez admitted. "Marcus threatened my medical license, my practice, my family. He had connections everywhere – medical boards, licensing authorities, federal agencies. One word from him and I would have lost everything."

"So you let them destroy an innocent man instead," I said, my voice sharp enough to cut glass.

"Yes. And I've regretted it every day since." She pulled out another document, this one newer. "But I've also been documenting everything. Every conversation, every threat, every piece of evidence that Marcus Blackwood has been orchestrating corporate attacks for seven years."

The new document was a detailed timeline of Blackwood's activities, complete with dates, companies, and methods. It read like a manual for corporate terrorism.

"He's been using the same playbook," Dr. Vasquez continued. "Identify a target company, create financial pressure through coordinated attacks, then swoop in with a rescue offer that gives him control. Sterling Industries is just his latest victim."

"Why are you telling us this now?" Damien asked.

"Because yesterday I received a visit from two men who made it very clear that my usefulness to Marcus Blackwood has expired." Dr. Vasquez rolled up her sleeve, revealing bruises that looked suspiciously like fingerprints. "They suggested it would be healthier for everyone if I disappeared permanently."

"Jesus," I breathed. "He's trying to eliminate witnesses."

"All of them. Anyone who knows about his past activities, anyone who could testify against him." Dr. Vasquez's hands were shaking as she handed me a flash drive. "That contains everything – financial records, recorded conversations, documentation of threats and coercion going back a decade."

I took the drive, feeling its weight like a weapon in my hand.

"This could destroy him," I said.

"It could. But Isabella, you need to understand – Marcus Blackwood has killed to protect his secrets before. If he realizes what I've given you..."

"He'll come after us," Damien finished grimly.

"He'll come after everyone you care about. Your employees, your friends, your family." Dr. Vasquez stood shakily. "I'm leaving the country tonight. I suggest you be very, very careful about who you trust with that information."

Before either of us could respond, the lights in the building went out.

"Fuck," Damien said, immediately moving to the window. "Three black SUVs, professional positioning. We need to go. Now."

Dr. Vasquez went white with terror. "He found me. Oh God, he found me."

"Is there another way out?" I asked, already moving toward my purse where I'd hidden the flash drive.

"Fire escape," she said, pointing toward a window that led to a rusted metal platform. "But if they're professionals..."

"They'll have it covered," Damien finished. He pulled out his phone. "Sarah, we need extraction. Fifth Street clinic, third floor, immediate threat."

The sound of heavy footsteps on the stairs made my blood run cold.

"They're coming," I whispered.

"The roof," Damien said decisively. "Sarah's team can get us from there."

We moved quickly but quietly toward the stairwell that led up instead of down. Behind us, I could hear men's voices, professional and calm, the kind of people who hurt others for money.

"Dr. Vasquez is here somewhere," one of them said. "Blackwood wants her alive for questioning."

Questioning. That was corporate speak for torture.

We made it to the roof just as the first men reached the third floor. The city stretched out below us, lights twinkling like stars, completely oblivious to the life-and-death drama playing out on a decrepit medical building.

"Where's your team?" I asked Damien.

"Two minutes out," he replied, but his expression suggested he wasn't sure we had two minutes.

The roof access door exploded open, and three men in dark clothes poured out with military precision. Professional killers, no doubt about it.

"Dr. Vasquez," the lead man called out, his voice carrying the kind of authority that suggested he was used to being obeyed. "Mr. Blackwood would like a word."

"Go to hell," Dr. Vasquez said, surprising everyone with her sudden show of backbone.

The man smiled, and it was the coldest thing I'd ever seen. "I was hoping you'd say that."

Before anyone could react, Damien moved. Seven years of corporate warfare had apparently included some very practical education, because he hit the first man with the kind of precision that suggested serious training.

The fight that followed was brutal and brief. Damien was good, but he was one man against three professionals. Just as it looked like we were about to be overwhelmed, the night erupted with the sound of helicopters and automatic weapons.

Sarah Martinez's extraction team descended on the roof like avenging angels, turning the situation around in seconds. When the dust settled, two of our attackers were dead and the third was unconscious.

"Are you hurt?" Sarah asked, helping me to my feet.

"No, but Dr. Vasquez—" I turned around, looking for our informant.

She was lying twenty feet away, a pool of blood spreading beneath her body. The flash drive was gone.

"Shit," Damien said, kneeling beside her. "She's alive, barely."

Dr. Vasquez's eyes found mine, and she mouthed a single word: "Safe."

Then she pressed something small and hard into my palm before losing consciousness.

A backup flash drive.

As Sarah's team airlifted us off the roof, I clutched the drive that might be the key to destroying Marcus Blackwood. But as we flew over the city toward safety, I couldn't shake the feeling that we'd just escalated this war into something that would end with bodies.

Somewhere below us, Marcus Blackwood was probably getting a report about the failed mission. And when he realized that Dr. Vasquez had managed to pass information to us before his men found her...

The next move would be his. And I had a feeling it was going to be deadly.

Damien POV

Three hours later, I stood in the secure conference room of my penthouse, staring at a wall of evidence that could destroy Marcus Blackwood's empire. The backup flash drive Dr. Vasquez had given Isabella contained seven years of meticulous documentation – financial records, audio recordings, photographs, and a paper trail that connected Blackwood to everything from corporate sabotage to murder.

"This is enough," Sarah said, reviewing the files on her laptop. "More than enough to put him away for life."

"If we can get it to the right people without being killed first," I replied grimly. "The moment Blackwood realizes what we have..."

"He'll come after us with everything he's got," Isabella finished. She was sitting across from me, the stress of the night showing in the dark circles under her eyes, but her voice was steady. "The question is: who do we trust with this information?"

It was a good question. Blackwood had demonstrated connections throughout the federal government, law enforcement, and corporate world. Anyone we approached could potentially be compromised.

"There's someone," I said slowly. "Someone who's been investigating Blackwood for years without any success. Someone who'd kill for evidence like this."

"Who?"

"Detective Ray Morrison. NYPD white collar crime division." I pulled up his contact information. "He's been trying to connect Blackwood to a series of suspicious deaths related to corporate acquisitions. The problem is he's never had proof."

"Now he does," Isabella said, holding up the flash drive.

My phone rang before I could respond. Unknown number, but I had a sick feeling I knew who it was.

"Cross," I answered.

"Hello, Damien." Marcus Blackwood's voice was silk over steel. "I trust you enjoyed your evening adventure."

"What do you want?"

"I want what Dr. Vasquez gave you. The files, the recordings, all of it." His voice carried the casual confidence of a man who held all the cards. "In exchange, I'm prepared to make you both very rich."

"We already are rich," Isabella said loudly enough for him to hear.

"Ah, Isabella. Still as spirited as ever. But perhaps you'd be interested to know that I have something you care about very much."

The temperature in the room seemed to drop ten degrees.

"What are you talking about?" I asked.

"Check your email. Both of you."

I opened my laptop while Isabella grabbed her phone. The email that appeared made my blood turn to ice.

It was a photograph of Marcus Chen, Isabella's loyal head of legal, tied to a chair in what looked like a warehouse. He was alive but clearly terrified, and the timestamp on the photo was less than an hour old.

"You son of a bitch," Isabella breathed.

"Language, my dear. Poor Marcus was just leaving the office when my associates invited him for a conversation. He's quite comfortable, I assure you. For now."

"What do you want?" I asked, though I already knew.

"A trade. Marcus Chen for the files Dr. Vasquez gave you. You have twenty-four hours to decide."

"And if we refuse?"

"Then Marcus dies, and I start working my way through everyone you care about. Your employees, your friends, anyone who might have been exposed to information I'd prefer to keep private." Blackwood's voice carried the casual cruelty of a man discussing the weather. "I have extensive lists, I assure you."

The line went dead, leaving us with the sickening certainty that our war with Marcus Blackwood had just claimed its first innocent victim.

"We can't give him the files," Sarah said immediately. "That information is the only thing keeping you alive."

"We can't let him kill Marcus," Isabella replied fiercely. "He's been loyal to my family for years. He doesn't deserve to die because of our war."

I stared at the photograph of Marcus Chen, noting the professional setup, the anonymous location, the clear message that Blackwood was prepared to kill anyone who got in his way.

"There's a third option," I said slowly.

"Which is?"

"We give Blackwood what he wants," I said, my mind already racing through possibilities. "We just make sure it destroys him in the process."

Isabella looked at me with the kind of sharp intelligence that had made me fall in love with her all over again.

"What are you thinking?"

"I'm thinking that Marcus Blackwood just made the mistake of playing a game where the rules matter more than the players." I was already reaching for my phone. "Sarah, get Detective Morrison on the line. Tell him Christmas just came early."

"What about Marcus Chen?" Isabella asked.

"We're going to save him. But first, we're going to make sure that when Marcus Blackwood falls, he falls hard enough to stay down permanently."

Outside the windows, dawn was breaking over the city, painting the sky in shades of gold and crimson. Somewhere out there, our enemy was holding an innocent man hostage while planning the destruction of everyone we cared about.

But Marcus Blackwood had made one critical error in his perfect plan.

He'd assumed we'd be too afraid to sacrifice the very information that could save us.

He was about to learn that some battles were worth losing if they helped you win the war.

The phone rang in my hand. Detective Morrison, finally returning our call.

Time to give Marcus Blackwood exactly what he'd asked for.