Xavier nods, apparently satisfied, and moves on to the next cluster of community members.
The second he’s out of earshot, I exhale. “I need a drink.”
“That makes two of us,” he agrees.
We slip out of the forum as soon as we can without being conspicuous. Keon is waiting with the SUV, and Thorne materializes from somewhere near the building’s side exit like a particularly well-dressed shadow.
I slide into the back seat, momentarily grateful I returned my rental car two days ago. At the time, it felt like a small surrender. Admitting I wasn’t going anywhere, that I was actually staying at Corin’s private villa instead of my own at the resort. Now? Now it just means I don’t have to follow behind in my budget sedan while Corin rides in air-conditioned luxury.
For now I’m still keeping my own villa in the public area of the resort, so I have somewhere to crash if I need it. But I probably won’t renew it at the end of the week,
The ride back to The Westlight starts in silence, but halfway up the coastal road, I can’t hold it in anymore.
“He’s good,” I admit. “I hate that he’s good.”
Corin’s jaw tightens. “He’s had years of practice.”
I shake my head. “He worked that room like a politician at a town hall. Half those people probably think he’s their new savior.”
“Which is exactly what he wanted.” Corin’s voice has the kind of control that means he’s furious underneath. “He’ll spend the weekend building relationships, undermining our credibility, and positioning himself as the ‘better’ alternative.”
I study Corin. “So we don’t let him.”
“Amara—”
“I’m serious.” I lean forward, warming to my argument. “He thinks he can outmaneuver us because he’s been playing this game longer. But here’s the thing about guys like Xavier: they’re so convinced of their own brilliance that they get sloppy. They underestimate people. I’m going to continue searching through every historical document you have. Digital and paper. If he’s planted forged documents to frame you, there’s going to be a trail. There always is.”
Corin reaches over and takes my hand, threading his fingers through mine. The gesture is so simple and natural that it catches me off guard.
“Thank you,” he says quietly. “For standing by me today. For—” he hesitates, “for not running.”
My breath catches at the vulnerability in his voice, and I want to kiss him right there, but I don’t, because, well, Keon’s still driving, and all that.
“Yeah, well.” I squeeze his hand back. “Someone has to stand beside you. Consider it part of my legal counsel duties.”
He grins. “Is that what we’re calling it?”
I smile in return. “Billable hours are billable hours, Saelinger.”
He laughs and some of the tension finally bleeds out of his shoulders.
When we reach The Westlight, the sun is starting its descent toward the horizon, painting the sky and beach the usual amazing pink shades you’ll only find in the Bahamas.
Corin helps me out of the SUV, his hand lingering at the small of my back.
“Dinner?” he asks.
“After I send forty-seven strongly worded emails to your foundation’s accounting team? Absolutely.”
“Make it fifty. I’ll open wine.”
That night,I’m camped out in Corin’s study with my laptop, and working through some of the forwarded email threads Corin’s accounting team have already begun sending my way. See, earlier Corin made a single phone call to his accounting team with the instructions that they answer all my requests “immediately.”
Apparently, “immediately” in billionaire-speak translates to “flood her inbox like you’re trying to drown her in Excel attachments.”
Anyway, I’m halfway through an email thread labeled “Donor Correspondence Q3 Outreach” when I find it.
A board memo, dated three weeks ago. It authorizes a land purchase on Eleuthera that would displace islander families, clearing coastal property for commercial development. Exactly the kind of thing we’ve come here to actively fighting against.
