Chapter 9
Christian stayed in his car, engine off, watching the bikers cross the street like they owned the time between traffic lights.
They didn't look lost. They didn't scan windows. They didn't circle.
They walked straight for Emdy's building.
Christian's first thought was simple and stupid: they're here to kill him.
His second thought came colder: they won't do it outside.
He got out of the car.
Not fast. Not panicked.
Pretending to be just another man heading into an apartment building at night.
He trailed them with distance, matching their pace without matching their purpose. He followed one floor behind.
A turn. Another flight. The narrow stairwell smelled like dust and old paint and someone's dinner. Christian held the railing lightly The bikers stopped.
Emdy's door.
Christian slowed, pretending the landing beyond was his destination. He didn't stop directly behind them. He drifted past, like he lived here, like he belonged here, like he wasn't listening for the exact sound of something going wrong.
One of the bikers knocked once.
Not polite. Just a signal.
No answer.
The biker tried the knob.
It turned.
Christian's stomach tightened.
They went in.
The door didn't slam. It closed gently, like whoever entered didn't want the neighbors to notice.
Christian continued walking past the door—two steps, three—then stopped at the corner where the hallway bent. He leaned just enough to steal a slice of the doorway from the angle, nothing more.
He waited.
Silence for a second.
Then voices—low, muffled, confident.
Emdy's voice was the first thing Christian recognized.
Not frightened.
Not pleading.
Measured.
"I told you not to come with noise," Emdy said.
A second voice answered—male, older, amused. "Noise is part of the message."
Christian held his breath.
Emdy continued, calm as ever. "The drive is clean. Everything you wanted is there."
A pause.
Then: "Half now. Half when the helicopter's airborne."
Christian felt his fingers curl against the wall without permission.
Another voice—closer, sharper. "One point five."
Emdy didn't argue. He sounded almost bored.
"You'll have it," he said.
"Tell Governor Rinaldi his secret is safe with me."
Christian's throat went dry.
Emdy added, quieter—like an afterthought, like a joke meant for someone who lived in this world.
"For now. Until a higher bidder appears"
Christian backed away.
One slow step.
Then another.
He didn't turn his back fully. Not yet. Not until he was far enough that he could pretend he'd never been there at all.
Behind him, the apartment door opened.
Christian froze—just for a beat—then moved again, casual, controlled, already walking like a man who had nothing to hide.
He didn't look back.
He didn't need to.
The betrayal had already done its work.