CHAPTER 139: Insurrection-8

CHAPTER 139: Insurrection-8

The commercial break felt like a breather: the murmur of the audience outside, the noise of cameras recharging batteries, the smell of coffee and photocopiers escaping through the hallways. Enid descended the stairs without haste towards her dressing room, her agenda still in her head and her professional demeanor intact, already thinking about the next speeches that needed polishing. She opened the door, hung her coat, and pressed the switch.

The light turned on with a dry click and revealed the room in its entirety: mirrors with spotlights, upholstered chairs, jars neatly arranged on the table, and, in the most expensive armchair, Fénix sitting with his legs crossed, his hood pushed back. The vision surprised her; the reflection in the mirror returned her own image, makeup brush in hand, and his, calm, almost challenging.

"What are you doing here?" she said immediately, her voice that of command more than that of a partner; beneath it, a thread of surprise.

Fénix raised his hands in a gesture of peace and smiled with the same reluctance he used for inevitable things.

"I didn't mean to scare you. That wasn't the idea, appearing like this." He shifted slightly to soften his posture. "I just needed to talk."

Enid set the brush aside, not turning off her machine of seriousness: the makeup could be retouched, the scene outside could not. She rubbed her temple with a calculated movement.

"I have five minutes. Is it about the agenda or another one of your nightly impulses?" she asked, adjusting the mirror to see herself while she spoke.

Fénix rested his elbows on the armrests of the chair and looked at her intently.

"It's about the President." He said it directly. "Elena Strauss is dealing with Viktor."

Enid blinked, a minimal gesture from someone hearing a subordinate say something that alters a strategic line. She didn't drop the tone that pretended calm.

"What exactly do you mean by 'dealing'?" she asked, the professional surface emerging before the woman who loved him.

"That they're protecting him. That they're negotiating his return under conditions that serve them. Marcus showed me: flights, transfers, a photo…" Fénix held back words that could sound like conspiracy and spat out what he had. "I don't have a clean recording. I don't have judicial proof. But I have lines leading to payments and a couple of witnesses who confirmed it in a hallway."

Enid jabbed the brush into the cup, letting the silence sink between them for a few seconds. The professional within her assessed the potential damage: spreading such an accusation without proof could dynamite a campaign, a country; without proof, it could also dynamite Enid Corp. The woman who knew him saw him tremble slightly, the truth pushing him beyond prudence.

"Proof?" she repeated, cuttingly. "Do you have anything we can present? Something that can't be discredited in five minutes?"

"No," admitted Fénix, his voice dry. "Not now. That's why I came. Because even if I don't have it, I can't stand by. If that's true, if Strauss allows Viktor to return and all that implies… I can't wait until it's too late."

Enid looked at her reflection again—her eyes under the light, her mouth that would soon have to deliver the next campaign line—and, unwillingly, saw in her own face the weight of what she was doing: moving pieces, paying money, the risk line always in her balance.

"I promised you calm," she said with the voice she had used days before when she consoled him on the sofa. "Don't you remember? You asked me to handle the witness, to handle things with the legality and patience you don't have. We said we'd look at this with a clear head." She paused, and the makeup was forgotten. "What are you doing by testing that promise?"

Fénix clenched his jaw. For a second, fury and guilt mixed on his face like two storms.

"Because the others continue with their speeches while something huge is cooking behind the scenes," he replied. "Because every time I wait, I feel I'm losing the chance to stop it. I can't pretend patience calms me. It eats away at me."

Enid took a deep breath, approaching without losing composure. She sat on the edge of the makeup table, a short distance away, and spoke to him not as a boss but as the person who had been in his bed and in his war.

"Do you know how much it costs me to lift a finger in this city?" she murmured, more to him than to the room. "It's not a matter of will; it's structure. Bringing someone down in politics isn't just exposing transfers. It's building a case that can withstand courts, appearances, and a press that grinds you down without asking. If you go and launch verbal accusations… they'll eat us alive. And you know it."

Fénix looked at his clenched hands.

"I know. But if I don't move a piece on the street, who will?" he said with a mix of challenge and plea. "I don't want you to do it for me. I want us to do it together. But not with papers that take months to move. Something immediate."

Enid watched him for a long time. The CEO who negotiated contracts saw the fracture of the agent who needed blood and justice; the woman who loved him feared the abyss where he had fallen. Both things coexisted in her gaze, burning her throat.

"I won't let them burn you," she said, her voice low, firm.

"Enid," said Fénix, moving closer until he was within a hand's breadth. "Let me do it. I'll get the proof."
"No," Enid replied instantly, coldly. "It's not just Antigen. You're talking about the Government, Fénix. If you get in there without a net, they'll destroy you, and drag me down with you."
"I know," he replied, clenching his jaw. "But if Strauss is involved, we can't wait for justice to do it. The plaza will make her untouchable if she becomes president."
"And you think I don't know that?" Enid tilted her head, weary. "I know what's at stake. I know what crossing to the other side means. You lose coverage, lose legality, lose… everything."
"I'd rather lose myself than see her unpunished," said Fénix, his voice clipped. "Give me one night. To bring you the information."
"I'm not going to play at saving you every other day," she murmured, harshly. "I told you I'd investigate with my head, not with suicidal courage."
Fénix looked at her, and on his face was imploration more than defiance.
"This time it's not impulse. I have clues connecting flights, transfers, and a warehouse. I can connect the dots if I'm allowed to move without noise."
Enid breathed. Her eyes searched within herself for the mix of boss and the one who loves him. The tension eased a millimeter.
"Alright," she conceded finally, quietly. "For a little while, and with conditions. I'll give you six hours of operational freedom."
"That's it?" asked Fénix, with a spark of relief.
"No," she corrected. "If you bring me solid, legal, and verifiable proof, I'll do everything in my power to protect you and use my channels against Strauss. But if you come back with rumors or theatrics, I won't intercede again."
Fénix nodded, the promise broken and rebuilt in his gaze.
"I'll bring it to you."
"Well then go," said Enid, her voice hard again. "And come back with facts, not rage."