Chapter 3 - “A decoy,” Vulov said. “A performance. I needed to know 2 things. One, was Thorne’s snitch real? And 2, how would Gallow react? Thorne’s snitch was real. And Gallow took the bait. He loved it. He thought he had me.”
“And Julian,” she whispered. “His anger.”
“Julian is a very fine actor,” Vulov said, a flicker of pride in his eyes. “He was also genuinely furious that I let it get that far. He hates you, Dr. Sullivan.”
“Because he’s loyal.”
“Because he’s loyal. He sees you as the variable I can’t control. And he was right to be angry. The breach was real. The accountant who was Thorne’s snitch is no longer an issue.”
Clare digested this. The betrayal she felt had been a lie. The whole thing had been a performance.
“You let me think. You let me sit in here, terrified, thinking you were going to—”
He stepped closer, his gaze intense.
“I let you sit in here safe while I confirmed that Thorne’s only play was to use my own organization against me. I let you stay here, the one place he couldn’t reach, while I set the final board.”
“The final board?”
“Marco Gallow is impressed,” Vulov said. “He loves Thorne’s audacity, but he’s a traditionalist. He doesn’t trust a man who betrays one boss to join another. He wants a face-to-face. He wants to meet Thorne and me. He’s holding a dinner to mediate, to decide who he’s going to back.”
“He’s going to kill one of you,” Clare said.
“He’s going to pick a partner,” Vulov countered. “And he’s going to eliminate the competition. Thorne thinks he’s coming to be crowned. He thinks he’s bringing Gallow my head on a platter.”
“And you?”
“I’m bringing him the truth.”
Vulov walked to the steel safe where she kept the master sample.
“And I’m bringing him the product.”
He turned to her.
“Which is why you’re coming with me.”
Clare’s blood went cold.
“No. Absolutely not. I’m a chemist. I’m not that.”
“Yes, you are,” he said, his voice hardening. “You are the formula. You are the proof. Thorne is selling a story. You are selling the truth. Gallow is an old man. He respects strength. But more than that, he respects creation. He won’t believe me. He won’t believe the data. But he will believe you. He will believe the artist.”
He went to the small closet where she kept her lab coats. Tucked in the back was the black Roland Mouret dress he had delivered to her apartment weeks earlier, a dress she had assumed was a strange, inappropriate gift.
“Go change,” he said. “The dinner is in 1 hour at Bella Notte.”
The circle was closing.
Bella Notte was different this time. The restaurant was closed to the public. The only car out front was Marco Gallow’s armored Escalade.
When Clare walked in on Donovan Vulov’s arm, she was no longer a ghost in an apron. The simple, brutally elegant black dress clung to her. Her hair was pulled back. Her eyes, which had been downcast for years, were level and cold.
She was, in every way, transformed.
They were in the patrons’ room, at the same table.
Marco Gallow was at the head. He was a small, round man in an expensive suit, with the benevolent face of a favorite uncle and the dead black eyes of a shark.
Marcus Thorne was already there, seated at Gallow’s right. When he saw Clare, his smug expression dissolved into pure, unadulterated shock, which he quickly masked with a sneer.
“Donovan, so glad you could make it,” Thorne said, his voice oily. “And you brought the help? How sentimental. Does she pour the wine or just validate the chemistry?”
Vulov ignored him, pulling out a chair for Clare. He sat and placed a small sealed vial of white powder on the table.
“Marcus,” Gallow said, his voice a gravelly rumble. “You tell me this man—”
He nodded at Vulov.
“—is weak. That his organization is compromised. You gave me proof. A good haul at Pullman.”
“As I said, Marco,” Thorne said, leaning forward. “He’s distracted. This woman, she’s got him chasing a ghost. His entire operation is crumbling.”
Vulov sat silently, watching.
“And you, Donovan,” Gallow said, turning to him. “You let a $5 million shipment get taken. Your men are dead. You come to me weak and ask for an alliance.”
Vulov leaned forward.
“The shipment was slag, Marco. The men are on vacation. It was a test. One that your people passed, and one that Mr. Thorne here failed.”
Thorne’s face went white.
“He’s lying. He’s trying to cover his—”
“The information was good,” Vulov said, cutting him off. “His snitch was real. An accountant named David Peters. He’s been dealt with. But Thorne’s entire premise is the lie. He’s not selling you strength. He’s selling you his weakness, his desperation. He came to you with my routes because he has nothing else to offer.”
Gallow looked from Vulov to Thorne, his eyes dark.
“He also offered me the formula. The one that you were supposed to get. He said he has the chemist.”
“He has a chemist,” Vulov said. “A cheap knockoff. I have the chemist.”
He nodded to Clare.
This was her moment.
She was terrified. Her hands were shaking under the table. She looked at Thorne’s hateful, panicked face. She looked at Gallow’s calculating stare. Then she looked at Vulov, who was watching her with unnerving, absolute confidence.
He had staked his life and his entire organization on her.
She stopped shaking.
She picked up the vial.
“This,” she said, her voice clear and carrying in the quiet room, “is the formula.”
She looked at Marcus.
“Hello, Marcus. You remember me? I’m Dr. Clare Sullivan, the one whose work your father stole. The work you tried to sell to Mr. Vulov. The wrong work.”
She turned to Gallow.
“Mr. Gallow, Marcus is offering you Z-isomer 7. It’s unstable. It degrades by 40% in 72 hours. It’s worthless. He knows this because I’m the one who told Mr. Vulov.”
Thorne leapt to his feet.
“She’s lying. This is a trick.”
“Sit down, Marcus,” Gallow growled.
Clare continued, her voice gaining strength.
“This—”
She held up the vial.
“—is R-isomer 12. My creation. It is 99.9% pure. It is perfectly stable.”
She pushed the vial toward him.
“It’s bound to a sucrose molecule. It is completely invisible to every field test, every blood panel. It is a ghost. It is, in every sense of the word, a perfect product.”
Gallow stared at the vial. Then he looked at Clare, then at Vulov.
He saw the truth. He saw the power. He saw a product that was not merely worth $100 million. It was worth $1 billion.
“So, Marcus,” Gallow said, leaning back. “You came to me. You lied. You brought me a weak product based on stolen information, and you used a traitor to do it.”
“Marco, no. I—”
Thorne was sweating, his eyes darting toward the door.
Julian was standing in front of it.
“Donovan,” Gallow said, “came to me with a test of loyalty. He sacrificed a pawn to see if I was a king. And then he brought me the queen.”
He nodded at Clare.
Gallow picked up the vial.
“A new partnership,” he said, looking at Vulov. “To us.”
Then he looked at Marcus Thorne, his face full of a terrible, sad disappointment.
“And you, Marcus, you are a liability.”
It was the last word Marcus Thorne would ever hear.
He lunged, not for Vulov, but for Clare, his face a mask of primal rage.
He never made it.
Julian intercepted him in a blur of motion. There was a single muffled sound, and it was over.
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Clare did not flinch.
She only watched, the alchemist who had finally and truly balanced her own equation.
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