Taming My Sugar Mommy
Chapter 108: Red rain

Chapter 108: Red rain

The server room hummed with the quiet efficiency of machines, bathing Isabella in a soft blue glow as she leaned against the console. Diana stood across from her, tablet in hand, her expression grim.

"Someone wiped the hotel’s backup servers remotely," Diana said, showing Isabella the diagnostic report. "It wasn’t just a simple deletion. This was surgical—targeted only at specific timestamp ranges."

Isabella’s eyes narrowed. "The missing two hours."

"Exactly." Diana swiped through several screens. "Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. They left enough of the surrounding footage intact to avoid triggering the system’s integrity alerts, but removed every trace of movement on the executive floors during that window."

"Professional," Isabella murmured, more to herself than to Diana. "Military-grade."

"Or intelligence agency," Diana agreed, setting down the tablet. "Which raises a rather uncomfortable question."

Isabella met her gaze steadily. "How did David acquire that level of expertise after seven years in federal prison?"

"Unless he had help." Diana’s voice dropped lower. "The kind that comes with official credentials."

The implication hung between them—that David’s release and subsequent activities might have government sanction. Isabella had always suspected there was more to his arrest than drug trafficking charges. The evidence had appeared too conveniently, the prosecution too eager to accept a plea deal that kept the trial details sealed.

Isabella’s phone vibrated against her hip. She glanced at the screen and felt a surge of relief.

"Christina," she said, accepting the call and putting it on speaker.

"I’m so sorry," Christina’s voice came through, breathless and agitated. "There was an accident—a hit and run. They forced my car off the highway."

Isabella’s grip tightened on the phone. "Are you hurt?"

"Bruised ribs, maybe a mild concussion. Nothing serious." Christina’s professional tone belied the gravity of what she was describing. "It was staged, Isabella. The driver was targeting me specifically. By the time highway patrol arrived, he was long gone."

Diana and Isabella exchanged looks.

"Where are you now?" Isabella asked.

"St. Andrew’s Hospital. They’re discharging me in an hour." A pause. "Have you heard from Liam?"

Isabella closed her eyes briefly. "David has him."

Christina’s sharp intake of breath was audible over the line. "Oh God. What does he want?"

"What he’s always wanted." Isabella’s voice hardened. "Control. Power. And whatever I’ve managed to build without him."

"The drive," Christina said softly.

"Yes." Isabella had never fully explained the drive’s contents to Christina, only that it contained proprietary algorithms that were critical to their operation. "Diana, can you get Christina secured at the Blackwood property?"

Diana nodded, already typing instructions into her tablet.

"I’ll send a security team to escort you," Isabella told Christina. "Do not go anywhere alone. Not until we know exactly what David is planning."

After ending the call, Isabella stared down at the phone in her hand, her mind racing through scenarios, each more troubling than the last. David’s network had been extensive before his imprisonment—business associates, political connections, the kind of people who operated in the shadows between legitimate enterprise and its darker counterparts.

But this level of coordination—the professional camera work, Christina’s "accident," the precision of Liam’s abduction—suggested resources beyond what even David should have been able to muster after seven years behind bars.

"You’re going to call him, aren’t you?" Diana asked quietly, reading Isabella’s expression.

Isabella nodded, her jaw set in a hard line. "He’s expecting it."

Diana hesitated, then stepped toward the door. "I’ll give you privacy."

When the door closed behind Diana, Isabella remained motionless for several long moments, gathering her resolve. She had sworn never to speak to David again after his sentencing—had built her entire post-David life on that foundation of absolute separation.

But Liam’s life was worth more than her pride.

She dialed the number she’d never deleted, part of her still hoping it would go unanswered. It rang only once.

"Isabella." David’s voice flowed through the speaker, smooth and familiar, as if they’d spoken yesterday instead of seven years ago. "I’ve been waiting for your call."

"If you hurt him—" she began, her voice tight with controlled fury.

"Always so quick to assume the worst of me," David interrupted, a hint of amusement coloring his tone. "Mr. Campbell is perfectly fine. A bit confused, perhaps, but unharmed."

Isabella closed her eyes, picturing Liam—pragmatic, loyal Liam—in David’s grasp. "What do you want?"

"A trade," David replied simply. "The drive for your... assistant."

The slight emphasis on the final word made it clear he knew exactly what Liam was to her.

"You’ve had seven years to think about this, David," Isabella said coldly. "Seven years to imagine what you’d say when you finally had me cornered. And the best you could come up with is a hostage exchange?"

David’s chuckle reverberated through the line. "Oh, Isa. Always so direct. So... impatient." The nickname—one only he had ever used—sent an involuntary shiver down her spine. "This isn’t just about the drive. It’s about what you did with it."

Isabella’s fingers tightened around the phone. "I protected it."

"You used it," David corrected, his voice hardening for the first time. "Selectively. Brilliantly. You took what I created and sculpted it into something that served only you. Tell me, does your precious Liam know what really powers Ashworth Events’ remarkable growth metrics?"

"Leave him out of this," Isabella warned. "He knows nothing about Lazarus."

"Ah, but he knows enough to be dangerous, doesn’t he? All those long nights working on your proprietary algorithms. The network architecture he helped refine. He’s been handling pieces of the puzzle without realizing what picture they form."

Isabella fought to keep her voice steady. "Name your terms."

"The complete drive. Unaltered. And you—in person—to verify its authenticity." David paused. "In return, Liam walks away unharmed, with no memory of our little conversation about Lazarus’s true nature."

"Where?"

"I’ll send coordinates. You have twenty-four hours." Another pause. "And Isabella? Come alone. Any sign of your security team, any hint that you’ve alerted the authorities, and this conversation takes a rather different turn."

Isabella’s free hand clenched into a fist. "How do I know Liam is still alive?"

"You don’t." David’s voice was matter-of-fact. "But considering my rather significant investment in this reunion, killing him would be... counterproductive."

"I want proof of life," Isabella insisted. "A live video call. Or no deal."

David was silent for a moment. "Check your email in one hour. And Isabella? I still know how you think, Isa. You’re already trying to find me. But this time... I want you to."

The line went dead.

Isabella stood motionless, David’s final words echoing in her mind. He wanted her to find him. Wanted her to come to him. Which meant...

"It’s a trap," she murmured to the empty room.

Of course it was. David wouldn’t have gone to such elaborate lengths merely to reclaim the drive. He could have broken into her apartment while she was traveling, could have intercepted her in any number of less dramatic ways if the technology itself was his only goal.

No, David wanted her—wanted to force a confrontation on his terms. The question was why.

Isabella returned to the security console, rewinding the footage once more. The blurred figure at the edge of the frame continued to haunt her. Who else was involved? Who had helped David orchestrate all this?

Her phone chimed with an incoming message from Diana:

*Christina secured. Team en route to Blackwood now. Updates on Liam?*

Isabella typed back quickly:

*David wants the drive. Sending proof of life in 1 hr. Working on extraction plan. Stay with Christina.*

She slipped the phone back into her pocket and took one last look at the frozen image on the screen—the moment just before the cameras had been compromised. Something about the figure’s posture, the way they moved...

Isabella shook her head, pushing away the disturbing thought. She needed to focus on getting Liam back first. Everything else could wait.

As she left the server room, Isabella’s steps were measured, her expression betraying none of the turmoil beneath. In her mind, she was already mapping out what she would need, calculating risks and contingencies.

When she reached her suite, Isabella headed directly to the bedroom closet. Behind the row of meticulously arranged shoes sat a small steel case, its biometric lock responding to her fingerprint with a soft click.

Inside lay three items: a Sig Sauer P365 handgun with two spare magazines, an old phone of Liam’s—replaced six months ago but kept as a backup with a tracking chip she’d installed without his knowledge—and a silver locket on a delicate chain.

Isabella lifted the locket, its weight familiar in her palm. David had never known about it—a gift from her grandmother, containing a tiny photograph of Isabella as a child, standing between her parents. Before the accident that had left her an orphan at eight years old. Before David. Before everything.

She closed the locket with a decisive snap and secured it around her neck, tucking it beneath her turtleneck. The gun went into her waistband, the spare phone into her pocket.

Isabella glanced at the hotel room’s camera feed one last time, studying the aftermath of the attack, seeing it with new eyes. David had left too many clues, made it too easy to follow his trail. He wanted her to find him—wanted her to come to him, believing she had the upper hand.

"You want war?" she whispered, voice barely audible even to herself. "I’ll bring you one."

Isabella checked her watch. Fifty-three minutes until David’s proof of life. Fifty-three minutes to prepare for a confrontation seven years in the making.

Outside, the rain had finally stopped, the sky clearing to reveal a city washed clean. But Isabella knew better than most that some stains couldn’t be removed—they could only be concealed, waiting for the right moment to resurface.

She turned away from the window, already formulating her next move. David thought he knew how she thought, how she would react.

He was about to discover just how much she’d changed.

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