My cell’s incessant ringing wails in the background like a constant crack of the whip, forcing me to switch off the shower in irritation. But it’s a useful reminder of the hundred things I need to get through today—one of them—Richard Morgan.
I’ve got a meeting with him later, and while the whole Monarch mess is still a headache, Richard’s proving a closer ally than I expected. Dragging him out of that tunnel might have been worth something after all. He hasn’t committed to anything yet, but he’s also not rushing into a deal with Elliot, either. Perhaps it’s loyalty, or maybe he’s questioning how Elliot keepsoutmaneuvering me at every turn. A man like Richard doesn’t make decisions on gut feeling alone—if something seems off, he’ll bide his time until he knows why.
Which brings me to the other important item on this morning’s agenda. Devlin. He called Austen late last night—his investigation is done, and he’s identified the source of the leaks. The thought of taking whoever is responsible down is breathing ice and fire into my veins. When I’m done, they’ll never work in this city again.
As I head toward the elevators, my phone screen lights up with five missed calls from Austen—unusual for this early in the day. A prickle of unease scrapes down my spine as I press the button for the executive floor. The moment the doors slide open, Bethany shoots up from her desk, her expression tight with concern.
“Something wrong, Bethany?” I ask, stepping into my office as she follows, a deep frown etched between her brows.
“Austen urgently needs to speak to you.”
“I see. I’ll call him now.”
“No,” she says, panic hovering beneath her usual calm. “He said he needs to talk face to face. I mentioned you had another meeting first thing, but...” she hesitates, as if choosing her words carefully.
“Just say whatever you need to, Bethany.” I try to rein it in, but impatience clips into my tone.
“Well, he almost bit my head off, which is completely out of character.”
My muscles tense because Bethany is absolutely right. Austen never loses his temper.
“Okay, Bethany. Cancel my first meeting and tell Austen to come now.”
She half-jogs to her desk, calling through to Austen’s secretary. I’ve barely sat down when my desk phone rings to let me know he’s here.
Austen strides in, his lips pressed into a thin line.
“What’s going on, Austen?”
There’s a strange silence as he looks at me in a way he never has before. Almost with pity. My pulse, already frantic, skyrockets.
“Devlin,” he finally says, drawing in a weary breath. “I spoke to him at length last night and again this morning.”
“And?” My fingers drum a frantic rhythm on my desk.
“The mole.” He leans forward, like he’s assuming the brace position. “You won’t like it.”
“Naturally. Why? Were you expecting I’d throw them a farewell party?”
Another stretch of silence. Impatience gets the better of me, and I snap. “Is this a fucking game ofClue, Austen? Are you waiting for me to name a suspect?”
“It’s Violet.”
He says it so quietly, I’m sure I misheard him.
“Say that again.” My lips barely move as every drop of blood in my body pounds in my ears.
“Violet,” he sighs.
Immediately, I jump out of my seat, my heart squeezing so tight I feel like I’m gasping for air. I tug my tie loose, resisting the compulsion to slam my fist through the window.
“Impossible. There’s no way. He must have made a mistake.”
“That’s what I thought, Chase. But the evidence is indisputable.”
“What fucking evidence?” I roar, pounding my fist onto the desk so hard that pencils and papers scatter to the floor.
“You need to calm down, Chase—”
