“I think there’s been a leak,” he says.
My spine goes rigid. “About what?”
“Your father’s health,” he replies. “Not specifics. But enough to start people asking the right questions.”
I keep my face neutral. “From where?”
“I don’t know yet,” he says. “That’s why I asked you to meet here. Not in your building. Not in mine. Anywhere with walls, staff, or security tied to Fairfax is compromised until we know more.”
“So, this isn’t precaution,” I say quietly.
“No,” Hugo answers. “It’s containment.”
He finally takes a sip of wine.
“They’re moving early because they think time is a factor,” he continues. “Whether they know the truth or not doesn’t matter. They believe it.”
I push my fries around the plate, appetite gone.
“They’ll frame it as concern,” he adds. “For him. For the company.”
“While positioning themselves,” I say.
“Yes.”
“I need this kept quiet,” I say.
“And it will be,” Hugo replies. “But until we identify the leak, assume anything said near your father travels.”
I meet his gaze. “Then we say less.”
A thin smile crosses his face. Approval, not comfort. “Exactly. Now we’re aligned.”
“There’s one person you can rule out,” I say. “Completely.”
Hugo looks at me, waiting.
“Matteo,” I continue. “My father’s chief of staff. His closest confidant since the beginning. Before the Fairfax PR became Fairfax Media. Before it had divisions and a building.”
Hugo’s expression doesn’t change, but his attention sharpens.
“He would never,” I say flatly. Not defensively. Factually. “He’s protected my father longer than anyone. Longer than me.”
“I’m glad you trust him,” Hugo replies. “Truly.”
“But” I say.
“But,” he agrees. “I wouldn’t be doing my job if I didn’t look anyway.”
The words land clean, professional, unyielding.
I sit back, fingers curling around the stem of my glass. “That’s not acceptable.”
Hugo holds my gaze. “It’s necessary.”
“No,” I say quietly. “It’s invasive. And if you push there, you damage something I cannot afford to damage.”
He considers me for a moment longer than is polite.
