My husband’s ex invited me to her extravagant $2 million beach club party for one reason—to embarrass me by exposing an old scar across my side in front of hundreds of wealthy guests.

The morning after the raid at Warehouse 14, the rain had stopped, leaving the city clean and glistening under a bright blue sky. But the atmosphere inside our estate was far from bright.

Our living room was cluttered with federal investigators, local police, and forensic technicians. The shattered glass had been replaced, but the scent of ozone and cordite still lingered in the air.

Daniel and I sat on the sofa, holding mugs of coffee, while Marcus Reed paced in front of us. He looked exhausted, the dark circles under his eyes a testament to a night spent dealing with a political firestorm.

"Charles Vance is in federal custody," Marcus said, stopping his pacing. "He's refusing to speak without his lawyer, but his personal files have already yielded a treasure trove of information. We've identified three more corrupt officials on the City Development Board and two detectives in our own internal affairs division."

"And Vanessa?" I asked.

"She's in protective custody," Marcus replied. "She's terrified. She's agreed to testify against everyone she can remember. She gave us the name of her father's primary contact in Europe—a man known only as The Architect."

I felt a cold chill run down my spine.

"The Architect," I repeated. "He was the one who designed the financial routing for the Ghost Syndicate. He was the one who ordered the hit on my team six years ago."

"We think he's in the city, Elena," Marcus said, his voice dropping. "According to Vance's phone records, a series of encrypted calls were made to a local burn number in the hours leading up to the raid. The tower pings put the phone in the financial district."

Daniel set his coffee mug down on the table, his expression thoughtful. "If this Architect is as smart as you say, he wouldn't stay in the city after Vance's arrest. He'd be running."

"Unless he has one more piece of business to finish," I said, looking at Daniel.

"What do you mean?"

"He can't leave the country with the federal government watching every flight and port," I explained. "He needs a way out. A way that doesn't involve commercial travel."

Daniel's eyes widened as the realization hit him. "The logistics network. My company."

"Exactly," I said. "Vale Holdings was trying to absorb your firm for a reason, Daniel. It wasn't just about the money. It was about the shipping lanes. Your company has diplomatic clearance for cargo transports to South America and Europe. If they could control your logistics, they could move anything—or anyone—out of the country without inspection."

"My head of operations, Miller, told me about a suspicious cargo manifest yesterday," Daniel said, his voice rising with urgency. "He thought it was a clerical error. A container of high-end medical equipment scheduled for an unscheduled flight to Switzerland tonight."

"It's him," I said, standing up. "He's using your company to escape."

Marcus reached for his radio. "I'll get a tactical team to the airport immediately."

"No, Marcus," I said, stopping him. "If a police force descends on the hangar, he'll see them coming. He'll slip away into the crowds or use a hostage. We have to do this quietly."

"Elena," Daniel said, standing up to face me. "This is my company. My father built it. I'm not letting some international criminal use it to escape his crimes. I'm coming with you."

I looked at him, seeing the determination in his eyes. He wasn't the man I had married anymore—he was someone stronger, someone who had been tested by fire and refused to back down.