Salt Kiss – Episode 22
The intruder survived, but only because the club’s medic recognized the symptoms quickly. He remained unconscious under police guard, leaving Tristan with photographs, a copied credential, and questions no one could answer.
Mark wanted the Lyonesse reopened by evening. Tristan refused. He ordered every room searched and every employee credential replaced before another guest crossed the threshold.
“Closing announces fear,” Mark argued.
“Staying open announces stupidity.” Tristan spread the surveillance photographs across the desk. “Whoever planned this knows your habits. Pride won’t stop the next attack.”
Mark’s jaw tightened, but he accepted the decision. In security matters, he had promised to follow Tristan’s lead. Keeping that promise now mattered more than either man admitted.
The search uncovered a transmitter beneath Mark’s desk. It had captured conversations from the office, including Tristan’s reports and Mark’s private calls.
Tristan stared at the device in his gloved hand. “This took access and time. Someone close to you made it possible.”
“Many people are close to me in public,” Mark said. “Very few actually know me.”
The lonely distinction unsettled Tristan. Mark commanded a room full of powerful people, yet trust appeared to be a privilege he granted almost no one.
They reviewed staff records late into the night. Tristan noticed payments routed through shell companies connected to the former employee whose credential had been copied, but the trail ended outside Washington.
“Professional money,” Tristan said. “Whoever hired him expected layers between the order and the attack.”
Mark studied the account names without surprise. “My business has created enemies.”
“This feels older than a nightclub dispute.” Tristan remembered the grief Mark had briefly exposed. “Does it have anything to do with the person you lost?”
Mark’s expression closed. “That is not relevant.”
“If the past is trying to kill you, it’s relevant to me.”
Silence stretched until Mark rose and walked to the window. “The man I loved died because someone wanted to punish me. I built the Lyonesse afterward, and I made certain no one could ever use love against me again.”
Tristan understood the warning beneath the confession. Caring for Mark did not merely threaten his own identity; it could make both of them targets.
His phone vibrated with an incoming security alert. Another photograph had been delivered to the club—this one taken inside Tristan’s bedroom while he slept.