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LOCATION: THE HOLLOW (OFF-SITE SAFE HOUSE)
CITY: RED LODGE, MONTANA
DATE: JUNE 17, 2025 | 7:00 PM
Brick and Grim had each taken a nine-hour leg of the eighteen-hour drive from Trevor Gant’s apartment in Chicago to the house in Red Lodge, Montana, stopping only for gas and bathroom breaks. They had to swap the IV bag on their passenger twice in the middle to keep him sedated, and just after Brick woke up from his power nap, he saw that the sun had already set over the Beartooth Mountains.
“Shit, not bad. We made decent time.” Brick took a bite of another protein bar, standard fare for these road trips.
Graham snickered. “Well, I’m glad you got your beauty sleep, princess. I’ve been driving all fucking day long. Could barely hear my audiobook over your chainsaw snoring. Old age is getting to you, brother. How does your back feel?” Grim glanced over as he navigated the winding mountain roads.
Brick snorted. “My back? Feels like hell. Maybe I can get your sister to walk on it for me when we get home.”
Grim just laughed. They had known each other for long enough and had been through so many life-and-death battles together, there wasn’t much either of them could say or do to actually get under the other’s skin. Once you’ve had someone’s back that many times, the amount of rope you get is long enough that it never gets used up.
Disappointed he failed to get a rise out of Graham, Mason said, “Whatever. No bullshit though, thanks for chatting after we got out of the city last night. Even with those two cans of jet fuel in my system, all-nighters aren’t what they used to be. Ah shit, maybe I really am getting old!” Brick stretched in his seat, cracking his back, then his neck, and then his elbows.
As the two continued their conversation, they exited Highway 212 onto Ford Road, then took the hairpin turn to the right onto Ski Run Road, winding into the pines to the west of the mountainside town. The long road narrowed further as they passed the last house with a mailbox. From there it was just forest, fences, and shadows.
As they pulled up to the gate in front of the house, Brick peered past the trees and blinked. “What the fuck? We could’ve flown in? There was an airstrip back there!”
Grim texted Aria Vance, the caretaker of the house, and the gate slowly opened to let them in. “All the jets are getting prepped to move the big wigs to SFO on Thursday for some meeting with the boss. Refueling, flight plans, the whole nine. Plus, who wants to explain this situation to a pilot—even one of ours?” Grim pointed his meaty thumb toward the lump in the backseat under a blanket.
The mountain air was thin and clean, edged with the crisp scent of pine and distant wood smoke. Gravel crunched beneath Brick’s boots as he hoisted Trevor Gant—still limp and sedated—over his shoulder like a sack of tools. Grim followed close behind, carrying a slim black duffel—Trevor’s laptop, mobile and burner phones, and the contents of his office briefcase inside.
They climbed two steps to the porch. Before either man could knock, the door opened with a soft creak.
Aria Vance stood in the doorway, her lithe form silhouetted by the warm amber glow of the cabin’s interior. She wore a burnt copper long-sleeve shirt tucked into utility pants and a sidearm holstered low on her hip. Her dark blonde braid was tight and neat. Her cool gray eyes swept over them in a single, calculated pass.
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She smiled, but only with her mouth. “Well, you boys look like hell.”
Grim laughed, low and tired. “Feel like it too, but it’s nothing compared to how this guy’s doing.” He jerked his thumb toward the slumped figure over Brick’s shoulder.
Aria stepped forward and wrapped Graham in a firm hug. She lingered just long enough for the contact to say more than a casual greeting ever could. When she stepped back, her hand brushed his arm for a beat longer than necessary.
“Been a while,” she said, her voice soft.
“Yeah,” Grim said. “Too long.”
Brick cleared his throat theatrically. “Unless one of you wants to carry this sack of shit, I’ll just assume the mushy reunion is over?”
Aria arched her brow at him. “You’re just as funny as ever, Brick.”
“You’re just jealous of my delivery,” he muttered. “Or is it my comedic timing?” he said, stepping inside laughing, and scanning the woods behind them one last time.
Aria shut the door. “Looks heavy,” she said. “How long will he be out?”
Grim checked the IV bag as Brick set his load down unceremoniously onto the couch. “Got another hour, maybe less. Plenty of time to get the room set up. Then it’s question time.”
“Anything I should know beyond what you told me on the phone yesterday?” she asked.
“Well, Prince Charming here thought he was going to play hardball with Voss. Got as far as a draft email blackmailing him for twenty-million dollars in crypto or else he’d go public, blah blah. You know the drill. We stopped it in time and have all of his devices here.”
Aria nodded once and took the duffel from Graham. Their hands brushed as she did. Neither said anything.
“Thanks again for taking this,” Grim added, his voice lower. “I know you don’t come out here much. It means a lot—having someone I trust handling this one.”
Her eyes met his. For a moment, something unspoken passed between them. A flicker of memory. A shared regret of what could have been. Maybe a glimmer of hope of what could still be?
“You know I’d never say no to you,” she replied, as she turned and walked down the hall toward the basement stairs. She unlocked the steel reinforced door and turned on the light to the long stairway.
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LOCATION: VOSS TOWER, 19TH FLOOR
CITY: SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA
DATE: JUNE 18, 2025 | 7:00 PM
Back in San Francisco, Mallory sat alone in the executive auditorium on the 19th floor of Voss Tower, bathed in the quiet hum of city lights filtering through the glass. The room was immaculate—polished, staged and ready. A podium sat in the center up front, flanked by two long tables. A few chairs were behind each of the tables, and on each table sat exactly thirty-two tablets with rich leather covers on them. There will be no physical copies of anything presented tomorrow, she thought. Mr. Voss took security seriously.
She exhaled slowly, thinking about the task list which had kept her full attention for the past two full days.
The NDAs were all signed.
Private jets and flight plans were confirmed.
Refreshments … whatever, close enough.
Security protocols on all tablets were checked and double-checked to ensure nothing would be sent or received from them. There was also a switch on the 19th floor—a new technology developed by one of Voss’s companies—which jammed all mobile phone communications just on that floor of the building. The shape of the jamming signal can be controlled in the app to a high degree of precision, and so nothing on the entire floor would get in or out.
Mallory stood and crossed to the tall window overlooking the Bay. The Golden Gate Bridge glowed to the north in the evening light, like a circuit wired to the bones of the city. Down below, the Tower’s lobby lights still burned bright. Voss’s empire never really slept.
It had taken the entire day Tuesday and Wednesday, but she had completed her entire task list. All the NDAs were signed, and all sixty-four of the Chief Executives would be enroute tomorrow. Including the new one, R. Levens from Kaylon Systems—the replacement for Greg Simms. The Kaylon board had approved Levens within an hour, sending an email to Mallory apologizing for Simms’s behavior. An unnecessary gesture, but one that she appreciated nonetheless.
Her job was done. Now it was up to Elliot Voss.
Tomorrow, the veil would be lifted. Secrets decades in the making would be shared. Reactions would be… unpredictable.
Mallory turned off the lights as she left the room. Her heels clicked as she walked down the hallway toward the waiting elevator. She’d earned a few hours of sleep, anyway. Come sunrise, the world was going to change for sixty-four more people. The circle of trust was growing— and with it, the risk of exposing Voss’s master plan.