The Billionaire They Couldn’t Break

Chapter 2: Enemy Within

The elevator doors opened to music, laughter, and applause.

Nothing had changed downstairs.

That was almost amusing.

Five minutes ago, I had walked out of the ballroom believing the biggest problem in my life was pretending to enjoy a celebration I never wanted.

Now I was wondering whether my wife had stolen confidential information from my company.

Yet the champagne still flowed.

The cameras still flashed.

And Amara was still smiling.

She stood exactly where I'd left her, surrounded by a small group of guests near the center of the ballroom.

Senator Caldwell was saying something.

His wife laughed.

Amara smiled politely.

Perfect.

Anyone watching her would see the elegant wife of Damian Cole entertaining guests at her husband's corporate celebration.

Nothing suspicious.

Nothing unusual.

Nothing that suggested her access credentials had been used to copy a four-hundred-and-eighty-million-dollar acquisition file.

My phone vibrated.

Marcus.

Watching from upstairs. Cameras are clean so far.

Locked the screen.

"Mr. Cole!"

A reporter intercepted me before I could reach Amara.

"One question."

"You already asked me six."

She smiled as though that meant nothing.

"Westbridge Business Journal. Everyone is talking about Cole Dominion's expansion. Are the rumors true that you're preparing another major acquisition?"

Interesting.

"Rumors are usually more entertaining than facts."

"So that's not a denial."

"It's not an answer either."

She laughed.

"Would you at least tell us what industry?"

"No."

"Technology?"

"No."

"Real estate?"

"No."

"Finance?"

"Still no."

"Then you are acquiring something?"

Looked at her.

She realized what she'd done.

"Enjoy the party."

Walked away before she recovered.

Normally, that conversation wouldn't have meant anything.

Tonight, every question sounded different.

Another acquisition.

Had the information already leaked?

Blackstone wasn't supposed to exist outside six people.

Yet someone had copied the file hours ago.

Maybe this reporter was fishing.

Maybe she knew something.

Maybe I was beginning to see enemies everywhere.

That was the problem with betrayal.

Once suspicion entered the room, innocence became difficult to recognize.

"Finally."

Amara appeared beside me.

"You disappeared."

"Work."

"You said champagne."

"Work involving champagne."

She narrowed her eyes.

"You're lying."

"According to you, badly."

"Very badly."

Her hand slipped into mine.

Warm.

Familiar.

Three years.

That was how long I'd woken beside this woman.

Three years of breakfasts when schedules allowed.

Late-night arguments.

Vacations we rarely finished without one of us answering work calls.

Birthdays.

Anniversaries.

Quiet Sundays.

Three years of learning exactly how Amara took her coffee and which perfume she wore when she wanted to feel confident.

Three years of believing there were parts of my life I didn't need to question.

"You're doing it again."

Her voice pulled me back.

"Doing what?"

"Looking at me like you're solving an equation."

"Maybe you are one."

"Should I be worried?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"Whether you're difficult to solve."

She smiled.

"Good luck."

That smile.

I'd trusted that smile.

Still did, apparently.

That irritated me more than it should have.

A slow song began.

Amara glanced toward the dance floor.

"No."

"I didn't say anything."

"You looked."

"And?"

"I don't dance at my own corporate events."

"You danced at our wedding."

"I was legally required."

She laughed.

"Come on."

"Amara."

"Damian."

She pulled my hand.

Several people were already watching.

Of course they were.

Everything we did in public became entertainment.

I could refuse.

That would create questions.

So I followed her.

Her arms settled around me as mine moved around her waist.

"You look miserable," she whispered.

"That's because I'm dancing."

"You're not that bad."

"I know."

"There it is."

"What?"

"That unbearable ego."

"You married it."

"I married the face. The ego came with it."

For a moment, almost forgot.

That was dangerous.

Amara rested her head near my shoulder while we moved slowly beneath the lights.

"Can I ask you something?"

"You're going to anyway."

She hesitated.

Barely.

But tonight, barely was enough.

"Are you planning something?"

Every muscle in my body remained relaxed.

"What kind of something?"

"Business."

"That's a broad category."

"You've been distracted for weeks."

"I own thirty-two companies."

"Thirty-four."

Looked down at her.

She smiled.

"I pay attention."

Apparently.

"What exactly are you asking?"

"Nothing specific."

"Then why ask?"

She shrugged.

"Curiosity."

Curiosity.

A harmless word.

My mind returned to the tablet in Marcus's hands.

Blackstone.

Confidential acquisition.

Copied using Amara's credentials.

Was she fishing for information?

Or was my suspicion turning every sentence into evidence?

"There's always something happening," I said.

"What?"

"If I told you, I'd have to make you sign another confidentiality agreement."

She leaned back enough to look at me.

"I'm your wife."

"Exactly. You're expensive to divorce."

Her mouth fell open.

"Damian!"

A few people nearby glanced toward us.

Amara slapped my chest lightly.

I smiled.

To everyone watching, we were the perfect couple.

Maybe that was exactly what we needed to remain.

For now.

The song ended.

Applause followed.

Amara took my hand again.

"I need a drink."

"You've already had two."

"You're counting?"

"I count everything."

"That explains why you're exhausting."

She led me toward the bar.

My phone vibrated again.

Marcus.

Need another ten minutes. Don't ask her anything.

Wasn't planning to.

Not until I knew what I was asking.

A waiter handed Amara champagne.

I took sparkling water.

She stared at my glass.

"Now I know something is wrong."

"Because?"

"You only drink water at parties when you're thinking."

"You pay too much attention."

Her expression changed slightly.

"Someone has to."

Before I could respond, a familiar voice reached us.

"Still drinking water at celebrations?"

My hand tightened around the glass.

Didn't need to turn around.

Victor Hayes.

Amara's father.

He wasn't supposed to be here.

Amara's smile disappeared for half a second before returning.

"Dad."

Victor approached wearing a charcoal suit and the same controlled expression I'd seen on television fourteen years ago.

Time had added gray to his hair.

Nothing else seemed different.

He still walked as if every room belonged to him.

"Amara."

He kissed his daughter's cheek.

Then his attention moved to me.

"Damian."

"Victor."

No handshake.

We had stopped pretending that far years ago.

"I wasn't expecting you," Amara said.

"Clearly."

Victor looked around the ballroom.

"Impressive evening."

"You declined the invitation," I said.

"I changed my mind."

"How unlike you."

His eyes met mine.

Victor Hayes had spent enough years dealing with businessmen to understand insults delivered with smiles.

So had I.

"Congratulations on today's acquisition," he said.

"Thank you."

"Westbridge Manufacturing was a difficult company to secure."

"It wasn't that difficult."

His smile tightened.

Amara stepped between the silence before it became visible.

"Dad, Senator Caldwell was asking about you earlier."

"Was he?"

"He and Patricia are near the balcony."

Victor nodded but didn't move.

His attention remained on me.

"I've been hearing interesting things about Cole Dominion."

"People usually find successful companies interesting."

"Expansion can become dangerous when it happens too quickly."

"So can standing still."

"Your father understood that."

There it was.

Amara's expression changed immediately.

"Dad."

Victor's eyes stayed on mine.

My father.

Fourteen years ago, those words would've been enough to make me lose control.

Victor knew that.

Maybe he wanted it.

He wouldn't get it.

"My father understood many things," I said calmly.

Victor's smile weakened.

"Of course."

He looked at Amara.

"Walk with me."

She didn't move.

"I'm with Damian."

"It's only a minute."

Could have told her not to go.

Wanted to.

Didn't.

Instead, lifted my glass.

"Go ahead."

Amara studied my face.

"You sure?"

"Why wouldn't I be?"

Something passed between her and Victor.

So quickly I almost missed it.

Almost.

"One minute," she said.

They walked toward the quieter end of the ballroom.

Didn't watch them.

That would be obvious.

Instead, greeted an investor who approached.

Talked about market growth.

Smiled when necessary.

Answered three questions I didn't care about.

All while keeping Amara and Victor inside the reflection of the glass wall across from me.

They weren't speaking like father and daughter catching up.

Victor's face was tight.

Amara looked uncomfortable.

At one point, she shook her head.

Victor leaned closer.

She glanced across the ballroom.

Toward me.

Then looked away immediately.

My phone vibrated.

Marcus.

Damian.

A second message followed.

Found something.

Excused myself from the investor.

Walked toward the hallway without looking at Amara.

"Talk," I said the moment I was out of sight.

Marcus answered immediately.

"The access wasn't remote."

Already knew that.

"You said executive floor."

"It was."

"Then?"

"We found the terminal."

Waited.

"Your office."

Stopped walking.

"My office?"

"Someone accessed Blackstone from your private desk terminal at 2:14."

That narrowed things considerably.

My office required biometric access.

Mine.

Marcus's emergency override.

And one other person.

My wife.

"Footage?"

"That's the problem."

"What problem?"

"The hallway camera outside your office went offline at 2:07."

"Coincidence?"

"I don't believe in those anymore."

Neither did I.

"How long?"

"Eleven minutes."

"And Amara?"

Silence.

"Marcus."

"We're tracing her movements."

"Where was she at 2:14?"

"According to the event schedule, she arrived here at four."

"That's not what I asked."

Another pause.

"We don't know yet."

My eyes moved toward the ballroom entrance.

Amara appeared.

Searching for me.

Victor stood several feet behind her, watching.

"Find out."

"Damian, there's something else."

"What?"

"The Blackstone file wasn't the only thing opened."

Cold spread through me.

"What else?"

"Your father's archive."

Didn't speak.

Nathaniel Cole's files had been locked inside a private server for years.

Bank statements.

Court records.

Legal documents.

Old contracts.

Every piece of evidence I'd collected while investigating what happened to him.

"What did they take?"

"We're still checking."

Amara spotted me.

Her expression softened instantly.

Then she started walking toward me.

"Marcus."

"Yeah?"

"Nobody knows about this."

"Understood."

"Not security. Not the board. Nobody."

"What about Amara?"

She was ten steps away.

Victor had disappeared back into the crowd.

My wife smiled.

Five steps.

"Especially Amara."

Ended the call.

"There you are," she said.

"Here I am."

Her fingers touched my arm.

"Dad left."

"So soon?"

"You know how he is."

Unfortunately.

She searched my face.

"What happened upstairs?"

"Why?"

"Because you've been strange since you came back."

Could have asked her where she'd been at 2:14.

Could have asked why her account opened Blackstone.

Could have asked why someone using access only three people possessed entered my office and searched through my dead father's files.

Instead, I reached up and moved a strand of hair away from her face.

Her eyes softened.

"Nothing happened."

"You promise?"

That word almost made me laugh.

Promise.

Trust.

Marriage.

Interesting words people used when they needed certainty.

"Of course."

She smiled.

Then leaned up and kissed me.

I kissed her back.

Slowly.

Naturally.

Like a husband who suspected nothing.

When she pulled away, her hand stayed against my chest.

"I love you."

Three words.

Words I'd heard hundreds of times.

Tonight, they sounded like a question.

Looked into the eyes of the woman I'd married.

The daughter of the man who helped destroy my father.

The only person besides Marcus who could enter my office without permission.

And smiled.

"I love you too."

Her shoulders relaxed.

That told me more than she probably realized.

I wrapped an arm around her waist and led her back toward our guests.

There would be no accusations tonight.

No questions.

No confrontation.

If Amara had nothing to do with this, the truth would clear her.

And if she did...

My father had made the mistake of warning his enemies when he realized they had betrayed him.

I wouldn't.

This time, they would believe the Cole man knew nothing until it was already too late.