The air in the elevator turned to ice. Charles didn't move. He just stared at the screen, his face a carved mask of fury. The faint vibration of the descending car was the only sound. For a man who always seemed ten steps ahead, this was the moment he'd been caught flat-footed. The anonymous sender hadn't just made a move; they'd announced it with a smirk.
"Klaus," I said, the name tasting like ash. "He's not the traitor. He's a loose end."
"Anja played us both," Charles said, his voice dangerously quiet. He didn't look at me. His focus was absolute, locked on the image of the broken man on the screen. "She wanted Klaus out of the way. She fed him just enough information to make him look guilty, then sent him to Paris to 'oversee' the merger details. She knew he'd drink. She knew he'd talk. She created the perfect leak and handed him to Lacroix on a silver platter."
