A BOARDING PASS TO GENEVA

The black plastic keycard felt heavy, like a lead weight in James’s palm.

He stared at his father. The man who had abandoned him was now asking him to sell out his unborn child to corporate mercenaries for a bag of cash.

“If I do this,” James whispered, his voice trembling. “I can never come back. I’ll be a fugitive.”

“You’re already a ghost, Jamie,” Robert sneered. “Marcus Thorne deleted your life thirty minutes ago. Take the bag. Get the files. We disappear to Costa Rica tonight.”

James looked down at the canvas bag. He thought about the frozen bank accounts. The humiliation in the courtroom. The terrifying realization that his entire identity was a lie constructed by his wife’s family.

He slowly reached down and picked up the strap of the heavy canvas bag.

“Good boy,” Robert smiled, clapping him on the shoulder. “Section D. Fifteen minutes. Don’t mess this up.”

James turned and walked toward the service elevators. He swiped the black plastic keycard. The doors opened immediately.

As the elevator carried him up to the VIP maternity wing, James unzipped the top of the canvas bag. He looked at the stacks of crisp, hundred-dollar bills. This was his escape. This was his severance package.

The elevator pinged. The doors slid open on the 12th floor.

It was eerily quiet. The private wing had thick carpets and dim, warm lighting. There were no security guards in the immediate hallway—they were stationed at the main entrances. They hadn’t anticipated a threat coming from the service elevator using a stolen master key.

James walked softly down the hall, checking the room numbers.

Room 1204.

The door was slightly ajar.

James pushed it open and stepped inside.

The room was vast, looking more like a luxury hotel suite than a hospital room. Lucy was sitting up in the hospital bed. She looked exhausted, her face pale, the IV line taped to the back of her hand.

But she wasn’t asleep.

She was folding a tiny, pale yellow cashmere blanket. It was the blanket they had bought together in Paris on their first anniversary, back when he thought they were saving up for months just to afford the trip.

Lucy didn’t scream when she saw him. She didn’t reach for the call button.

She just kept folding the blanket, her hands steady.

“I told the doctor you would come,” Lucy said softly. Her voice held no anger. Only a profound, heartbreaking sadness.

James froze near the doorway, the canvas bag heavy on his shoulder. “Lucy. I didn't want to do this.”

“You never want to do the things you do, James,” she replied, placing the folded blanket on the edge of the bed. “You just do them, and then you wait for someone else to clean up the mess.”

She looked at the canvas bag. “How much did Apex pay your father to get you up here?”

James felt the blood drain from his face. “How… how do you know about that?”

“Because I own Apex Innovations, James,” Lucy said.

The room fell completely silent. The hum of the heart monitor next to the bed seemed to amplify.

“What?” James breathed.

“Thorne Holdings bought Apex through a shell company three years ago to avoid anti-monopoly scrutiny,” Lucy explained patiently, like a teacher speaking to a slow student. “There is no corporate war. Delilah wasn’t a spy for a rival company.”

James dropped the canvas bag. It hit the floor, spilling stacks of hundred-dollar bills across the pristine tiles.

“Delilah was an independent corporate data thief,” Lucy continued. “And the people who hired her didn't work for Apex. They worked for me.”

James gripped the back of a visitor’s chair to keep from falling over. “You hired her? You hired a woman to seduce your own husband?”

“I hired a security auditor to test the integrity of my head of development,” Lucy corrected him, her eyes hardening into polished steel. “I needed to know if the man holding the keys to the Aether algorithm could be compromised.”

She touched her pregnant stomach gently.

“I didn't expect you to move her into a penthouse. I didn't expect you to file a false deed. I didn't expect you to throw away our family for a woman who complimented your ego in a hotel bar.”

Lucy reached over to the bedside table and picked up a small, black remote.