The message arrived without fanfare—no subject line, no signature. Just one sentence:
"He's losing control. Meet me. Midnight. Discretion is survival."
Attached was a location: The Brass Room, a forgotten speakeasy buried beneath an old hotel in Midtown. The kind of place no one stumbled into by accident.
Anita read the message three times before deleting it.
The speakeasy was dimly lit, its walls lined with tarnished mirrors and jazz that sounded like it was drowning in smoke. Anita sat alone in the farthest booth, her back to the wall.
At 12:07 a.m., Celeste Ward walked in.
Anita didn't flinch.
Celeste had been one of Marcus's most trusted lieutenants. Smart, silent, always watching. She was the kind of ally who didn't need orders—just access.
Tonight, she looked colder. Calculated. And alone.
"I expected a different face," Anita said as Celeste slid into the booth.
"You weren't supposed to expect anything. That's how this works."
Anita arched an eyebrow. "You work for Marcus."
"I worked with Marcus. There's a difference. And he's starting to forget it."
A beat passed.
"I'm not here for a confession," Anita said. "If this is a trap—"
"It's not," Celeste cut in. "It's a warning. He's unraveling. The injunction blindsided him. He's lashing out—desperate. He's started pulling old files, looking for leverage on people who were once loyal to him."
Anita leaned forward slightly. "Including you?"
Celeste nodded once. "And you. Again."
She reached into her coat and placed a flash drive on the table.
"That has internal memos, off-the-books payments, and details on Elektra's shell accounts. You'll find records linking them to Ashcroft and three GNV board members—two of whom already flipped their allegiance to him."
Anita didn't touch the drive yet. "Why give it to me?"
"Because Marcus doesn't believe anyone can stop him. And men like that make mistakes. You're the first one who's made him bleed." Her voice sharpened. "I want to be standing on the right side when the empire collapses."
Anita left without a word.
Later that night, she decrypted the files. What she found wasn't just leverage—it was a fuse already lit.
One memo detailed Marcus's authorization of a falsified audit, pushing millions through a consulting firm registered to a dead man's name. Another showed instructions for erasing whistleblower correspondence—someone Anita had once defended, and who had mysteriously resigned.
It was a paper trail soaked in gasoline.
And Celeste had handed her the match.
Alone in her study, Anita stared at the flickering screen.
This wasn't just revenge.
This was reckoning.
Marcus hadn't seen her coming.
And by the time he did—
It would already be too late.