Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 104: Plan

Chapter 104: Plan

The elevator descended silently, fifty-two floors feeling like mere seconds as David Harrison stared impassively at the polished brass doors. His reflection stared back, composed and elegant in his tailored black overcoat. The subtle weight of the holstered gun pressed against his ribs—a reminder of purpose, of inevitability.

When the doors parted on the private underground garage, Reed was waiting beside the luxury sedan, door already open. Rain drummed against the concrete outside, creating a symphony of white noise that would mask their departure.

"Sir," Reed acknowledged with a curt nod. Tall, with military-precise posture and eyes that revealed nothing, Reed had been with David for eight years. He didn’t ask questions. He simply executed.

David slid into the backseat, the leather cool against his palms. The privacy partition was already raised, sealing him away from the driver. Perfect. He needed these moments to focus, to prepare.

As the car merged seamlessly into the rain-slicked streets, city lights bleeding into watery halos through the tinted windows, David removed a small tablet from an interior compartment. The device recognized his fingerprint, illuminating with a soft blue glow.

Isabella’s face filled the screen—not the polished, camera-ready version that graced society pages, but an unguarded moment. Hair tousled by ocean breeze, eyes squinting slightly against Mediterranean sunlight. The image brought back unwelcome memories of their last public encounter, just Nine month ago at the Samuel Davies gala.

She’d been stunning in midnight blue silk, commanding the room as she always did. David had watched her work the crowd, raising thousands for the charity with practiced charm. He’d approached during a rare moment when she stood alone, champagne flute in hand.

"Isabella," he’d said simply.

She hadn’t startled—Isabella Ashworth was too composed for that—but her fingers had tightened almost imperceptibly around the crystal stem.

"David. I didn’t expect to see you here tonight."

"Clearly." His tone had been conversational, but his eyes were cold. "You should be more careful about the company you keep."

Her gaze had flicked briefly to where Liam Campbell stood across the room, deep in conversation with a hospital board member.

"My assistant is hardly concerning company," she’d replied smoothly.

"We both know he’s not just your assistant anymore." David had moved closer, close enough that only she could hear his next words. "And we both know what he doesn’t have access to. Yet."

The implied threat had hung in the air between them.

"Is that why you came tonight? To threaten me at a Samuel’s Davies charity event?" Her voice had remained steady, her public smile never faltering.

"Consider it a courtesy warning between old friends." He’d reached out, adjusting the diamond pendant at her throat—a gift from him, back when they were still together. Before the arrest. Before everything fell apart. "I’ve always admired your ambition, Isabella. Don’t let it cloud your judgment."

The memory faded as the car navigated a sharp turn. David’s eyes refocused on the tablet, fingers dancing across the surface to bring up a different file.

PROJECT LAZARUS glowed on the screen, followed by a series of encrypted documents. David entered a sixteen-digit passcode, unlocking the first layer of security. Schematics filled the screen—architectural plans, technical specifications, financial projections.

Lazarus had been his vision before the drug charges, before eighteen months in federal prison for crimes he hadn’t committed. The irony wasn’t lost on him—Lazarus, rising from the dead. Just as he had risen from the ashes of his reputation, rebuilding his empire piece by careful piece.

The drug charges should have destroyed him. Would have destroyed anyone else. Cocaine distribution, intent to sell—all fabricated, all designed to remove him from the equation long enough for competitors to claim his territory.

Isabella had stayed with him through the arrest, through the early days of the trial. She’d believed in his innocence, or at least claimed to. But when the evidence mounted—evidence he now knew had been meticulously manufactured—she’d disappeared. No goodbye, no explanation. Just gone, taking with her the prototype access drive for the Lazarus financial network.

On the surface, Lazarus appeared to be an ambitious urban development initiative—luxury apartments, commercial spaces, cutting-edge technology integration. In reality, it was much more. Beneath the gleaming towers and sustainable facades lay infrastructure designed for something far more valuable than mere real estate: data collection on an unprecedented scale. Every inhabitant, every visitor, every transaction—all seamlessly monitored, analyzed, and leveraged.

Five global cities. Hundreds of thousands of unwitting participants. Billions in projected revenue.

And Isabella’s drive contained the access codes to the shadow financial network that would fund it all—untraceable accounts, shell corporations, the entire framework carefully constructed over a decade. Without those codes, Lazarus would stall. With them in the wrong hands—particularly government hands—it would collapse entirely, taking David’s empire with it.

The car slowed as they approached the service entrance of the Grand Meridian Hotel. David closed the Lazarus files and pulled up the surveillance feed. Four split screens showed different angles of the hotel suite where Isabella and her former assistant now waited, oblivious to the approaching storm.

Liam Campbell paced the luxurious sitting room, phone pressed to his ear, gesticulating with his free hand. Thirty-four years old, self-made tech millionaire turned right-hand man to Isabella Ashworth. Ambitious. Principled, allegedly. Currently out of his depth.

The bathroom door opened on another feed, and Isabella emerged wrapped in the hotel’s plush robe, hair damp from the shower. She moved with the confident grace David had always appreciated, approaching Campbell from behind and sliding her arms around his waist.

David’s jaw tightened imperceptibly. The last time he’d held Isabella had been the night before his arrest. She’d worn his dress shirt, hair loose around her shoulders, laughing at something trivial as she’d poured them both a nightcap. Hours later, federal agents had stormed his penthouse. Hours after that, Isabella was gone.

The car came to a stop. Reed opened the door, holding an umbrella that did little against the slanting rain. David stepped out, barely noticing the water that instantly soaked the bottom of his trousers.

Four men waited inside the service entrance, dressed in hotel maintenance uniforms but standing with unmistakable military bearing. Kinney, Walsh, Ortiz, and jake. Former special forces, now exclusively on David’s payroll. They didn’t react as he approached, didn’t straighten or salute. They were beyond such displays, operating in a realm where competence was assumed and failure was not an option.

"Report," David said simply, removing his damp overcoat.

Kinney stepped forward, tablet in hand. "Campbell and Ashworth have been in the suite for approximately three hours. Room service delivered dinner at 7:42 PM—champagne, oysters, filet mignon." His tone remained clinical, devoid of any subtext. "Campbell made seven calls in the last hour. Three to his office, one to hotel management requesting late checkout, and three to an unknown burner phone."

"The burner concerns me," David noted, accepting the tablet and reviewing the call logs.

"Already traced," Jake interjected. "Triangulated to a vessel currently docked at the marina. Forty-foot yacht registered to a shell corporation. We believe it’s their exit strategy."

David nodded approvingly. "And our timeline?"

Walsh consulted his watch. "Hotel security rotates shifts in eighteen minutes. There’s a scheduled maintenance check on the west wing that will draw attention away from this corridor. We’ve mapped two extraction routes." He pointed to the tablet, where a blueprint of the hotel highlighted potential paths. "Primary route through the service elevator to the parking garage. Secondary through the emergency stairwell to the roof, where transport is standing by if needed."

"The drive?" David asked.

"No visual confirmation yet," Ortiz reported. "But Campbell accessed the hotel safe at 8:15 PM. Retrieved something small enough to fit in his jacket pocket."

David’s eyes narrowed. "Show me."

Ortiz queued up the footage. The grainy security camera showed Campbell nervously glancing around before punching in the safe code, removing a small object, and quickly pocketing it.

"Enhance," David instructed.

The image zoomed and sharpened. A sleek, matte black USB drive with a distinctive red line running along its edge. David’s drive. His property.

"There it is," he murmured, more to himself than the team. "Has he accessed it?"

"Negative," Jake replied. "No electronic signatures detected from the room that would indicate decryption attempts."

David returned the tablet, straightening his cuffs in a gesture that had become almost meditative over the years. A ritual before action.

"Updates on surveillance?" he asked, voice cool.

Reed pulled up the current feed on his own device. The suite’s sitting room was empty now. The bedroom feed showed Campbell and Isabella tangled in sheets, apparently asleep. The champagne bottle on the nightstand was empty, glasses overturned.

"Convenient," David observed. "Prepare the sedative for Campbell. Standard dose. I want him coherent for transport but manageable."

Kinney produced a small case containing pre-loaded syringes. "And for Ms. Ashworth?"

David’s expression didn’t change, but something dangerous flickered in his eyes. "I told you. No one touches Isabella." He checked his watch. "We move in ten minutes. Walsh, secure the service elevator. Jake, monitor security rotations. Ortiz, prep the transport. Reed, with me."

As the team dispersed to their assignments, David withdrew to a quiet corner, removing the small velvet box from his pocket. He opened it carefully, revealing not jewelry but a delicate glass vial containing a clear liquid. A compound of his own design—odorless, tasteless, and virtually undetectable in medical screenings. Not lethal, but effective at creating temporary psychological malleability.

His mind drifted to the final day of his trial, when he’d caught a glimpse of Isabella in the back of the courtroom. Their eyes had met briefly before she’d turned away. That was the last he’d seen of her until his release nineteen months later. By then, she’d built her event planning business into an empire of its own, her face regularly featured in business magazines and society columns.

What none of those glossy features mentioned was how she’d funded her meteoric rise. David knew. The same way he knew she still had his drive, even after all this time. The same way he knew she hadn’t yet given Campbell full access to its contents.

Isabella wouldn’t be sedated like Campbell. She would walk out conscious, under her own power, believing she had chosen to return. David would reclaim what was his—both the drive and the woman.

Outside, thunder rumbled across the city, the storm intensifying as midnight approached. David Harrison stood motionless, watching the rain lash against the windows, patience and power embodied in his stillness.

The hunt was nearly over. The pieces were in position.

It was time to reclaim what was his, to prove to Isabella that she couldn’t simply walk away—not from him, not from what they’d built together, not from the secrets they shared.

This time, there would be no escape.