Chapter 24: High Society, Low Treason
Chapter 24: High Society, Low Treason
New York City, three days later. The world believed Eleanor and Leo were dead, victims of a tragic "gas leak" at the St. Jude Academy. Being a ghost had its advantages.
They were holed up in a decommissioned subway station beneath City Hall, a relic of the 1920s that Julian had retrofitted into a bunker. The rusted tiles and arched ceilings felt like a tomb, but the humming server racks brought it to life.
Leo sat in front of a bank of monitors, his eyes red-rimmed. "I decrypted Thorne's drive," he announced. "It’s a ledger. Offshore accounts, shell companies, blackmail material. But the crown jewel? The name of the man who runs The Obsidian Trust."
Eleanor leaned over his shoulder. On the screen was a face that made her blood run cold.
Victor Sterling.
"He’s a philanthropist," Julian scoffed, looking at the screen. "Billionaire. Owns half of Manhattan real estate and sits on the board of the Met. The man is untouchable."
"Nobody is untouchable," Eleanor murmured. "Sterling orchestrated the crash that ruined my husband. He funded Elias Thorne. He ordered the hit on the school. I want him in the ground."
"He never leaves his penthouse," Leo noted, scrolling through Sterling's schedule. "Except for tonight. He’s hosting the Black and White Masquerade Gala at the New York Public Library. Invitation only. Biometric security at the door."
"Then we get an invitation," Eleanor said.
"How?" Julian asked. "We don't exist."
Eleanor turned to a metal trunk in the corner of the room, throwing off the tarp. Inside was a collection of high-end espionage gear, forged passports, and a stunning, form-fitting black velvet gown.
"Before my husband died, he left me a safety deposit box," Eleanor explained, holding up a diamond masquerade mask that glittered with cold malice. "Inside was an alias. A European aristocrat named Countess Elena Rostova. She has impeccable credit, a flawless backstory, and, as of ten minutes ago, an RSVP to Mr. Sterling’s little party."
May you like
Julian whistled. "You're walking into the viper's nest alone?"
"You'll be on the roof across the street with a .50 caliber sniper rifle," Eleanor said, slipping the poisoned hairpin into her intricate updo. "I won't be alone. I’ll be the bait."
