The Salvador Legacy

13| Escape

                         |Ace's pov|

Monday, 4:08 pm

I locked eyes with Emerald after finishing my sentence. Confusion etched across her face-her mouth opening and closing, eyes squinting, hands gesturing sporadically. I realized I had to share the necessary information, and what I just revealed went beyond the basics.

So I offered a simple smile and pivoted away from her, making my exit.

"Hello there. Don't rush away just yet," her fingers delicately brushed my arm, a gentle touch almost imperceptible.

Glad my back was turned; those eyes had a way of silencing me, a rarity. Deciding to leave, I chose my words carefully before making my exit.

"As you leave, I want you to understand-I won't be part of your game. Handsome as you are, I'm not naive enough to misread your intentions." She spoke in a single breath.

Cute

"Sweetheart, your perception game is strong, but it takes more than intellect to dance with me. Best grab a seat; the show's just beginning."

Walking away, I pondered, "Cliché, Ace. No need to vocalize that," my thoughts echoing silently.

Monday, 7 pm

5396 North Reese Avenue, Fresno CA 93722

The text from one of my agents flashed on my screen, revealing the precise coordinates of Jameson's whereabouts.

He probably believes I can't track him; he deactivated his GPS and managed to outsmart the navigator I planted on his car. Jameson's using a burner phone, ensuring none of my employees or agents can reach him.

Clever, but he underestimates how thoroughly I've tracked his every move. If anyone can bring Selena home, it's me. Apologies, Jamie.

"We've arrived, sir," the driver declared, adjusting his collar.

His habitual collar adjustment catches my attention-perhaps a rash, though my concern is minimal. With his salary, consulting a doctor wouldn't be too much to ask.

I tilted my head to the left, absorbing the view of the apartment. Considering the intricate interiors and overall complexity, a ballpark estimate would easily place it at around 15 million dollars.

Negotiable

Antonio, my secretary, trailed behind, parking his car just behind mine. He consistently sported a rugged look, ensured his glasses were a constant accessory-until now. As he approached, there were no lenses framing his gaze.

"Mr. Cartier, your brother resides on the 10th floor in room 1816. Allow me to guide you there," Antonio offered courteously.

"Ant, drop the formalities. How many times do I have to say it? And no, you stay here. I'll handle him," I asserted.

Entering the building, I stepped into the elevator and was met with my own reflection. My hand dropped to the button marked "10th floor" in the elevator.

Stepping out onto the 10th floor, I walked directly to the door marked with the number 1816 and knocked the door.

Adjusting my tie, I heard the sound of him rummaging through his belongings as he got to the door.

"Didn't notice you lurking," Jameson remarked, casually opening the door and running his fingers through his damp hair.

"You look miserable," I quipped.

"Oh, come on. Lose the formals, and I bet you'd label yourself miserable too. Try something other than suits," Jameson retorted with a cocky smirk.

"So, are you going to invite me in or not?"