Hana chose the café across from his office. Public enough to keep him civil, private enough for danger to breathe between them.
He arrived ten minutes late, arrogance in every step. "I knew you'd call eventually," he said, sliding into the seat across from her.
"I didn't call to reminisce," she replied, sliding a folder toward him. "I want my freedom, and you're going to give it to me."
He opened the folder, eyes narrowing at the documents. Offshore transfers. Shell companies. Dates that lined up with her disappearance.
"Where did you get this?" he hissed.
"Doesn't matter. What matters is what happens if I send it to the press."
He leaned back, a slow smile curling. "You're bluffing. You don't have the guts."
Hana didn't answer. She simply reached for her phone, scrolling until a message appeared ready to send — addressed to every major news outlet.
"Try me."
For the first time, his confidence cracked.
He leaned forward. "What do you want?"
"Everything you took from me. And then… I want you gone."
His fingers tightened around the folder. "You think this ends with you walking away?"
"It ends with you crawling away," she said coldly, rising from her seat.
When she left, she didn't look back.
But she felt his eyes burning into her, and she knew — this was only the opening move.