The billionaire dared the invisible waitress to translate a secret code. He had no idea who she was.

Marcus Vance stood in the doorway, flanked by three armed private security guards in black tactical gear. He wore his usual immaculate Brioni suit, his silver hair neatly combed, and a calm, polite smile on his face. But the moment his eyes landed on Ethan pinning Victor Volkov to the chair, and then shifted to me standing beside the open journal, his polite facade evaporated.

"Well, well," Marcus said smoothly, stepping into the room while his guards instantly raised their weapons, training their laser sights squarely on Ethan’s chest. "It seems our little restaurant employee has an unexpected knack for history. Too bad history has a habit of repeating itself, isn't it, Ethan?"

Ethan slowly released Victor, straightening his suit jacket as he turned to face his COO. The betrayal in Ethan’s eyes was profound, cutting deeper than any corporate loss ever could.

"Marcus," Ethan said, his voice dangerously quiet. "You orchestrated the Mediterranean shipping leaks. You sold our logistics data to Volkov. And you killed Arthur Sterling."

"Killed is such an ugly, pedestrian word," Marcus sighed, checking his diamond-encrusted wristwatch with theatrical boredom. "Arthur was a brilliant man—a genius with numbers and codes. But he was naive. He discovered that the research we were funding for encrypted satellite communications was being repurposed by international syndicates. He threatened to go to the federal authorities. So... we made sure his final equation didn't balance."

Victor Volkov grunted, rubbing his bruised throat as he stood up, glaring at Marcus. "Your little operational security failed, Vance! You told me the girl was just a standard waitress! You didn't tell me she was Arthur Sterling’s daughter!"

"How could I know?" Marcus snapped back, his smooth composure slipping for a fraction of a second. "Arthur kept his family hidden in the academic underground to protect them from precisely this kind of exposure."

Marcus turned his cold, calculating gaze toward me. He pulled a silenced pistol from inside his jacket, raising it with terrifying calm.

"It’s unfortunate, really," Marcus murmured, leveling the barrel straight at my chest. "You had such a promising future as a linguist, my dear. But some secrets are simply too expensive to keep."

Time seemed to slow down to an agonizing crawl.

I saw the cold glint of the steel barrel. I saw Marcus’s finger tightening around the trigger. I knew I couldn't outrun a bullet, and I knew the guards standing behind him would cut down anyone who tried to interfere.

Then, Ethan moved.

Instead of diving for cover, Ethan lunged sideways, driving his full weight directly into the massive mahogany dining table, flipping it completely over on its side.

Bang.