Chapter 4 - The Lion’s Den
Cassian’s home wasn't a house,
it was a fortress.
A sprawling estate tucked into the hills of West Portland,
surrounded by high stone walls and state-of-the-art security.
It was beautiful,
in a cold,
imposing way,
with floor-to-ceiling windows that looked out over the city.
"You’ll be safe here,"
he said,
leading me through a marble foyer.
"My staff will provide whatever you need."
I felt like a prisoner in a gilded cage,
but at least the cage had guards who wouldn't try to kill me.
Over the next few days,
the tension between us grew.
We spent hours in his study,
going through the recovered files from my camera.
My gear had been ruined,
but the SD card had survived,
sealed in its waterproof housing.
We found the photo.
It was a candid shot of the garden,
meant to capture the twilight over the roses.
But in the far left corner,
near the hedge,
the Commissioner was handing a briefcase to a man whose face was now clear.
"That’s Viktor Volkov,"
Cassian said,
his voice laced with a deep,
ancient hatred.
"The head of the Russian syndicate."
"They’re planning to take over the port,"
I realized,
looking at the documents we had decrypted.
"The Commissioner is giving them the security codes in exchange for a piece of the profits."
"And I was the one standing in their way,"
Cassian added.
"With you as the collateral damage."
I looked at him,
seeing the exhaustion behind his eyes for the first time.
"Why don't you just give this to the FBI?"
I asked.
He laughed,
a dry,
hollow sound.
"The FBI is slow,
Elara."
"By the time they build a case,
I’ll be dead and you’ll be a memory."
"No,"
he said,
his eyes burning with a sudden intensity.
"We’re going to handle this my way."
He leaned in closer,
his breath warm against my ear.
"Are you brave enough to take a picture of a murder,
Elara?"
"Because that’s what it’s going to take to end this."
He explained the plan.
The handoff was happening tonight at a private gala at the art museum.
I would attend as his guest,
hidden in plain sight.
I would use a hidden camera,
smaller and more advanced than anything I had ever used.
"If they catch you,"
he warned,
his hand resting on my shoulder.
"I won't be able to reach you in time."
"I know,"
I said,
my heart pounding.
"But I’m tired of being afraid."
He looked at me with something that might have been admiration.
"You have more fire in you than I thought."
That evening,
he dressed me in a gown of deep emerald silk,
the color of the river that had almost taken me.
He wore a tuxedo that made him look like a king,
a dangerous,
shadowy king.
As we entered the museum,
the air was thick with the scent of lilies and expensive perfume.
The Commissioner was there,
holding a glass of champagne,
laughing as if he hadn't tried to drown a woman a few days ago.
Cassian squeezed my hand,
a silent signal.
"Stay calm,"
he whispered.
"I’m right here."
I moved through the crowd,
my heart a frantic bird in my chest.
I spotted Volkov in the corner,
looking out of place in his sharp suit.
I positioned myself near the balcony,
the small lens hidden in my necklace aimed at the meeting point.
The Commissioner joined him,
the two men nodding toward each other.
They didn't speak much,
just a brief exchange of a small,
encrypted tablet.
The light on my necklace flickered green.
I had it.
The betrayal,
the evidence,
the proof of their alliance.
But as I turned to leave,
a hand grabbed my arm,
the grip like a vice.
"Ms. Collins,"
a voice hissed.
I turned to see the Commissioner’s lead security guard,
May you like
his eyes cold and narrow.
"You should have stayed in the river."
