His face tightened.
“Send it.”
He ended the call.
“Our board received an anonymous packet.”
My stomach sank.
“About what?”
“Me.”
“What about you?”
Richard looked at her.
“It claims I hid losses from Whitmore investors.”
“Is that true?”
Then corrected himself.
“Not like they’re claiming.”
I studied him.
“What does that mean?”
“We had a fund underperform five years ago.”
“How badly?”
“Twelve percent.”
“That’s not criminal.”
“Did you disclose it?”
“So what’s in the packet?”
“Altered reports.”
I felt the pattern.
Manipulated documents.
Leaked data.
Public pressure.
Adrian wasn’t simply stealing information.
He was shaping narratives.
One about me.
One about Richard.
He wanted both sides weakened.
Why?
The answer arrived before I could ask.
My attorney called again.
“Simone, North Coast Partners just filed an indication of interest to acquire Bellamy House.”
I stopped breathing.
“Five minutes ago.”
“For how much?”
“Thirty percent below Whitmore’s valuation.”
Of course.
He understood too.
Adrian wasn’t helping Whitmore buy Bellamy.
He was sabotaging Whitmore and me so North Coast could buy us cheaply.
Victoria whispered, “He used me.”
Nobody corrected her.
My phone buzzed with an email.
Subject:
NORTH COAST CONFIDENTIAL PROPOSAL.
I opened it.
Read the first page.
Then the second.
My anger became something colder.
Because the proposal included internal details that North Coast could only know from our stolen files.
Lease liabilities.
Supplier disputes.
Quarterly projections.
Even an unreleased restructuring plan.
“This is bigger than a bad acquisition.”
“This is corporate theft.”
Victoria stood.
Her voice shook.
“I can help.”
I looked at her.
“You already did.”
Her face fell.
“I mean help fix it.”
She looked humiliated.
But humiliation wasn’t accountability.
“Then tell me everything.”
She took a breath.
“There’s a dinner tonight.”
“What dinner?”
“Adrian invited me.”
Richard’s expression hardened.
“Whitmore Tower.”
“He said investors from North Coast wanted to meet me.”
“And you were going?”
“Before today?”
“After today?”
She looked at her father.
Then at me.
“I still can.”
Richard immediately said, “No.”
I said, “Yes.”
He turned.
“Simone.”
“If Adrian doesn’t know she’s cooperating, she’s our best access.”
“That’s my daughter.”
“And he already targeted her.”
Victoria stepped forward.
“I’ll do it.”
Richard stared at her.
She looked terrified.
But she didn’t look away.
“I started this.”
“No,” I said.
“Adrian started it.”
“You gave him the door.”
“Now you can help close it.”
At seven that evening, Victoria entered Whitmore Tower wearing the same emerald dress.
Only this time, a tiny recorder was hidden beneath the collar.
And I was listening from a conference room two floors below.
Chapter 4
I could hear every breath Victoria took.
Too fast.
Too shallow.
Richard stood beside me, staring at the audio monitor.
“Tell her to leave.”
“She sounds terrified.”
“She is.”
“That’s enough.”
“She hasn’t even entered the room.”
He turned toward me.
“You don’t have children.”
The words landed harder than he intended.
He realized it immediately.
“I’m sorry.”
“My daughter died when she was six months old.”
He stopped breathing.
The room became still.
I hadn’t planned to say it.
I rarely did.
Her name was Naomi.
She would have been nineteen.
For years, I buried myself in work because companies were easier to save than children.
Richard looked devastated.
“I didn’t know.”
“Most people don’t.”
He lowered his eyes.
“So am I.”
Then the door in Victoria’s audio feed opened.
We both turned back.
Adrian’s voice came through.
Smooth.