[Jake’s POV]

The Bellamy townhouse sat behind a row of black iron gates in the kind of quiet Manhattan street where people paid obscene amounts of money to pretend the city did not exist. The building was narrow, old, and beautiful, with pale stone steps, dark green shutters, and two security cameras tucked discreetly beneath the entrance awning. It looked like a home built for charity dinners, family portraits, and secrets rich men thought would stay buried because the walls were expensive.

Marianne sat beside Claire in the back of the car, her hands folded tightly in her lap. She had not cried. She had not shouted. She had not even looked at Richard since we left the museum. That silence terrified him more than anything I could have said. Richard sat opposite her with Ethan beside him, his face pale, his tie loosened, and his eyes fixed on the floor like a man trying to disappear into the leather seats.

"Children first," Marianne said quietly.

Claire nodded without looking up from her tablet. "Already moving. Private extraction team is on the way to Harrington Prep. They will be taken to a secure property under Sterling control. No digital trail, no school announcement, no exposed route."

Marianne’s face tightened at the mention of her children, but she held herself together. "Will they be frightened?"

"Yes," Claire said honestly. "But they will be alive."

Marianne closed her eyes for one second, then opened them again. "Good."

Richard finally lifted his head. "Marianne, I didn’t know it would go this far."

She turned to him slowly. "You never know anything until someone else pays for it."

That shut him up.

Ethan looked at me like he was trying very hard not to enjoy the exchange. He still had one hand inside his jacket, his posture loose, but his eyes never left Richard. Somewhere between Europe and here, Ethan had learned how to look harmless while keeping a man trapped in a moving car. I would have been proud if the reason for that change did not sit so heavily in my chest.

The car stopped half a block from the townhouse. Claire checked the street camera feeds Nia had patched through, then gave a small nod. "No visible watchers. Front camera is live. Back alley has one maintenance van parked too long, but the plates belong to a plumbing company that actually exists."

Ethan frowned. "That sounds suspiciously normal."

"It’s New York," Claire said. "Even spies need plumbing."

A blue screen flickered in front of my eyes before I could open the door.

[Ding!]

[Side Mission Generated!]

Mission: Wine Cellar Etiquette

Objective: Retrieve incriminating documents without being shot, stabbed, or emotionally entangled in another marriage dispute.

Reward: Bellamy Thread Progress +15%

Penalty: Host will refer to one expensive wine incorrectly in public.]

I stared at the screen.

Another line appeared.

[Additional Warning: All Skills remain locked.]

Suggestion: Try using common sense.]

I got out of the car before the System could insult me again.

The cold air bit into my face as we crossed the sidewalk. Marianne walked beside Claire, chin lifted, every step controlled. Richard trailed behind with Ethan close enough to catch him if he ran and close enough to break something if he tried anything stupid. I climbed the stone steps first and looked at the front door camera. It looked ordinary. Too ordinary. I had learned to dislike ordinary things in houses full of money.

Marianne opened the door with a small brass key.

The inside of the townhouse smelled like polished wood, old books, and expensive flowers beginning to die. A wide staircase curved up toward the second floor, and a crystal chandelier glowed softly above the entry hall. Family photographs lined the wall. Marianne in a summer dress. Richard in a navy blazer. Two children smiling beside a lake. Everyone looked happy in the way framed photographs always insisted people were.

Marianne stopped in front of one of the pictures.

For the first time, her face cracked.

Only a little.

Then she walked past it.

"The wine cellar is downstairs," she said.

Richard swallowed. "Marianne, please."

She did not turn around. "You are done speaking unless Mr. Hart asks you a question."

Ethan looked at Richard. "I like this arrangement."

We followed her through a long hallway, past a formal dining room and a sitting room that looked like no one had ever sat in it without permission. Claire stayed close to Marianne, but her eyes moved constantly, scanning corners, doorways, windows, reflections in glass cabinets. She had become very good at surviving rooms that pretended to be safe.

The basement door was behind the kitchen, hidden beside a pantry lined with imported tea and absurdly expensive olive oil. Marianne unlocked it with a code, then led us down a narrow staircase into cool darkness. The air changed as we descended. It became damp and still, carrying the rich smell of oak barrels, old stone, and wine that probably cost more than my first apartment.

The cellar lights clicked on one row at a time.

Hundreds of bottles lined the walls behind dark wood racks. French labels. Italian labels. Some dusted with age, others so polished they looked staged for visitors. In the center of the room stood a tasting table with six leather stools and a small bronze lamp.

Richard looked like he wanted to be sick.

"Where?" I asked.

Marianne walked to the far wall and stopped in front of a rack filled with Bordeaux. She reached for a bottle near the bottom, twisted it once, and the entire rack clicked softly. Ethan raised his eyebrows.

"A wine rack secret door," he said. "Of course."

Marianne glanced back at him. "Richard enjoys being predictable in expensive ways."

The rack swung open, revealing a narrow metal safe built into the wall.

Richard whispered, "Marianne."

She ignored him and entered the code.

The safe opened.

Inside were three leather folders, a small hard drive, two sealed envelopes, and a stack of printed statements bound with a silver clip. Marianne stepped aside and looked at me.

"I found this six nights ago," she said. "I did not understand all of it, but I understood enough to know Richard was afraid of something bigger than an affair."

Richard’s face twisted. "I was trying to protect us."

"No," Marianne said. "You were trying to protect yourself from the consequences of protecting us badly."

Claire took the folders and began photographing the contents with her tablet. "These are trust statements. Offshore holdings. Audit recommendations. Payment schedules."

Ethan leaned over carefully. "Is that our fake audit firm?"

Claire nodded. "Same one Victoria flagged."

I opened one of the envelopes.

Inside was a printed itinerary for a private dinner at a place called The Halcyon Room. No logos. No formal names. Just a date, initials, and a handwritten note at the bottom.

M will confirm final pressure before vote.

M.

Margot.

"There she is," I murmured.

Claire took the note from me, scanned it, then looked at Richard. "Who is Margot?"

Richard shook his head quickly. "I told you. I don’t know."

Ethan stepped closer. "You’re lying badly."

"I’m not lying."

Marianne looked at him.

Richard broke almost immediately.

"She never gave her full name," he said. "I swear. She contacted me through a private line. Swiss number. French accent. She knew things about my father’s accounts. Things no one outside the family should have known."

"Where did you meet her?" I asked.

He hesitated.

Marianne’s eyes hardened.

Richard lowered his head. "Twice. Once at the Halcyon Room. Once at a private lounge near the East River."

"Description."

"Late forties. Maybe early fifties. Dark blonde hair. Elegant. Calm. She wore gloves both times."

"Gloves?" Claire asked.

"She said she disliked touching public surfaces."

Ethan looked at me. "That is either rich person behavior or serial killer behavior."

"Often the same thing," I said.

The System chimed.

[Ding!]

[Intelligence Fragment Updated!]

Margot: Female, Swiss-French accent, dark blonde hair, gloves, intermediary for Isabella-linked pressure route.]

Bellamy Thread Progress: 42%]

System Comment: Target husband remains disappointing.]

Richard looked at me. "What?"

"Nothing."

"You looked at me like you heard something."

"I did. It was the sound of poor decision making."

Ethan snorted.

Marianne did not smile.

Claire removed the hard drive from the safe and handed it to me. "Nia needs this. If Margot used the same channel for other board members, there may be patterns in the metadata."

"Can she crack it?"

Claire gave me a flat look.

"Right," I said. "Stupid question."

From upstairs, something thudded.

Everyone went still.

Ethan’s hand moved to his gun.

Claire’s eyes snapped toward the ceiling.

Marianne’s face went pale.

Richard whispered, "No."

Another sound followed. Softer. A footstep.

Someone was inside the house.

I looked at Claire.

She had already muted her tablet and pulled up the security feed. Her face tightened. "Front door camera is looping. It has been looping for three minutes."

"Back entrance?"

"Offline."

Ethan drew his Glock with a quiet, practiced motion. "How many?"

Claire tapped quickly. "Unknown. Internal cameras were disabled from inside the network."

Richard staggered back against the wine rack. "She said she would know."

Marianne turned to him slowly. "She said what?"

He was sweating now. "She said if I opened the safe, she would know."

For a moment, no one spoke.

Then the System appeared.

[Ding!]

[Side Mission Updated!]

Objective: Escape Bellamy residence with documents and target alive.]

Reward: Bellamy Thread Progress +25%]

Penalty: Host will mispronounce ’charcuterie’ at next social event.]

I stared at the screen.

"Focus," Claire whispered, noticing my expression.

"I am focused."

"You are making the face again."

"I am having a private crisis."

"Have it quietly."

Ethan moved toward the stairs. "Darius is four minutes out."

"Too long," I said.

A shadow moved beneath the basement door at the top of the stairs.

The handle turned slowly.

I grabbed Marianne and pulled her behind the tasting table. Claire pushed Richard down beside her, harder than necessary. Ethan took position near the bottom of the stairs, gun raised but angled away from the door until he had a clear shot.

The basement door opened.

A man stepped onto the first stair.

He wore a dark coat, black gloves, and a museum security badge clipped to his lapel. Fake. The badge sat too high, and his shoes were too soft for a man who supposedly spent hours standing on marble floors. He held a suppressed pistol low against his thigh.

He saw Ethan.

Ethan fired first.

The gunshot cracked through the cellar, brutally loud in the enclosed space. The man jerked backward, hit the wall, and tumbled down the stairs in a violent mess of limbs and dark fabric. His pistol clattered across the floor, spinning to a stop near the tasting table.

Marianne covered her mouth.

Richard made a strangled sound.

Ethan lowered his gun slightly, breathing hard.

"You okay?" I asked.

He nodded once. "I hate stairs."

Another set of footsteps sounded above.

More than one.

Claire grabbed the hard drive, folders, and envelopes, stuffing them into her briefcase. "We need another exit."

Marianne pointed toward the far corner. "Service tunnel. It connects to the alley. Richard had it installed for private wine deliveries."

Ethan looked at Richard. "Of course he did."

Richard’s voice shook. "It was for discretion."

"Your whole life is discretion," Marianne said coldly.

I moved to the far corner and found the narrow service door hidden behind a rack of champagne. The lock was old but solid. Marianne entered a second code with trembling fingers. Nothing happened. She tried again.

Still nothing.

Richard swallowed. "It jams."

I looked at him.

He flinched. "Sometimes."

The footsteps above reached the basement door.

Ethan raised his gun again.

I grabbed a heavy bottle from the rack and smashed the neck against the edge of the tasting table. The glass broke jaggedly, wine spilling across the stone floor. Then I wedged the broken neck into the old lock and twisted with both hands.

The lock resisted.

My shoulder screamed.

The System chimed.

[Ding!]

[Optional Objective: Open door without looking pathetic.]

Reward: None.]

Penalty: Host will look pathetic.]

"Helpful," I muttered.

The basement door opened again.

Two men appeared at the top of the stairs.

Ethan fired twice, forcing them back. Suppressed shots answered, punching into the wine racks above us. Bottles shattered, red wine exploding across the cellar wall like blood.

Marianne screamed.

Claire pulled her lower behind the table.

I twisted harder.

The lock snapped.

The service door burst open into a narrow brick tunnel.

"Move!" I shouted.

Claire shoved Richard through first, then Marianne, then followed with the briefcase clutched tight against her chest. Ethan backed toward us, firing one more shot up the stairs before ducking into the tunnel. I went last, pulling the door shut behind me as another bullet cracked into the stone beside my head.

The tunnel was narrow, damp, and barely lit by small emergency bulbs along the floor. We moved fast, Richard stumbling ahead, Marianne breathing hard behind him, Claire guiding her with one hand while holding the briefcase with the other. Ethan limped beside me, jaw tight, sweat shining on his forehead.

"You’re bleeding again," I said.

"So are you."

I looked down.

A piece of glass had cut across the back of my hand. Not deep. Enough to sting.

"I’m fine."

"That phrase should be illegal."

"Risk management," I said.

He laughed once, then winced. "Don’t make me hate you while I’m armed."

The tunnel ended at a rusted metal grate behind the townhouse. Claire kicked it open with surprising force, and we spilled into a narrow alley smelling of wet concrete and garbage. A black SUV screeched to a stop at the far end of the alley, headlights cutting through the gray afternoon.

For one second, I thought Isabella’s people had beaten us there.

Then the rear door opened, and Darius stepped out.

He looked at Ethan first, then at me, then at the blood on the back of my hand.

His expression darkened.

"I told you to wait," he said.

Ethan pointed at me. "He started it."

I stared at him. "That is not true."

"You followed a board member into a service corridor at a museum."

"He ran."

"You chased."

"Reasonably."

Darius walked past both of us and took Marianne gently by the arm, guiding her toward the SUV. His voice softened when he spoke to her. "Ma’am, your children are safe. They are already in transit."

Marianne stopped walking.

For the first time since the museum, tears filled her eyes.

She nodded once, but she did not break.

"Thank you," she whispered.

Richard tried to follow her into the SUV.

Darius put one hand on his chest and stopped him cold.

"Not with her."

Richard looked at me, desperate. "Where am I going?"

I looked at the townhouse behind us. Somewhere inside, Isabella’s people were probably searching an empty wine cellar and realizing the safe had been opened too late. Somewhere else, a woman named Margot would hear that Bellamy had failed to disappear quietly.

"You," I said, "are going to tell Evelyn Cross everything you know."

Richard went pale. "She’ll arrest me."

"Probably."

"Jake—"

I stepped closer.

He stopped speaking.

"You brought a foreign power structure into my companies. You put your wife and children under Isabella’s hand. You nearly got everyone in that cellar killed." My voice stayed calm, which made him look even more afraid. "Be grateful I’m giving you to the law."

Darius opened the second SUV door and pushed Richard inside.

Ethan leaned against the wall, breathing hard. "That went well."

Claire stared at him.

He raised one hand. "Relatively."

The System chimed.

[Side Mission Complete!]

Mission: Wine Cellar Etiquette

Reward: Bellamy Thread Progress +15%]

Additional Reward: Documents Secured.]

Penalty Avoided: Mispronunciation of expensive wine.]

Then another line appeared.

[Penalty Applied!]

Reason: Host broke rare wine bottle during mission.]

Penalty: Temporary inability to appreciate oak notes.]

I looked at the screen.

"I never appreciated oak notes."

[Penalty adjusted.]

New Penalty: Wine snobs will sense your disrespect for 24 hours.]

I sighed.

Claire looked at me. "System?"

I froze.

She had said it softly.

Too softly.

Ethan looked between us.

Darius turned his head slightly.

Claire’s eyes stayed on mine.

I held her gaze for one second too long.

Then I smiled.

"What system?"

She did not smile back.

For a moment, the alley felt colder.

Then Nia’s voice crackled through Claire’s tablet.

"I have the children secured, the museum footage partially scrubbed, and three news outlets ready to call the loading bay incident an attempted robbery if necessary. Also, if Jake is bleeding again, tell him I hate him."

Ethan looked at my hand. "He’s bleeding again."

"I hate him," Nia said immediately.

"Noted," Claire replied, still watching me.

The SUV pulled away from the alley, carrying Marianne Bellamy toward her children and Richard Bellamy toward federal consequences. I stood there with blood on my hand, a hard drive in Claire’s briefcase, and the first real piece of Isabella’s internal pressure route finally in our possession.

It was not a victory.

Not yet.

But it was a start.

Claire stepped closer, lowering her voice so only I could hear.

"We are going to talk about that later."

"About what?"

She looked at me for a long moment.

Then she walked past me toward the SUV.

Ethan gave me a tired look. "You’re in trouble."

"I noticed."

"Want advice?"

"No."

"Tell the truth."

I looked at him.

He shrugged and immediately regretted it because of his ribs. "Or don’t. I’m concussed and emotionally unqualified."

I watched Claire climb into the SUV.

The System appeared one last time.

[Ding!]

[Relationship Warning!]

Claire Montgomery has noticed inconsistencies.]

Suggestion: Panic internally.]

I closed my eyes.

Back to basics, apparently, included the one thing I had always been worst at.

Explaining myself.