“Concerned?” he echoed. “Help me understand.”
She chose her next words with precision. Not too sharp. Not too soft. “Whatever my personal political affiliations, I feel like there are still a lot of unanswered questions about the NorthBridge account. I didn’t even realize Morris was involved, but now that I do...It only muddies the waters.”
A pause. Not long. Just enough to warn her she’d stepped closer to a line he thought she couldn’t see.
He gave a soft, almost paternal chuckle and leaned forward, forearms resting lightly on the desk like he was about to explain something to a promising but confused associate. The movement was smooth, confident—but his gaze had the faint, assessing glint of a man measuring which lever to pull next.
He folded his hands. “Norah,” he said gently, “you know I trust your instincts...”
There was always abut.
He continued, “I thought I told you to let the NorthBridge data settle. And it did, right? Everything comes back clear now?”
“Well,” she said carefully, “the surface-level numbers settled. But the underlying patterns?—”
“Patterns,” he repeated with a faint smile, as though she’d said something adorably ambitious. He tapped one finger against his clasped hands, a soft, rhythmic motion with an edge to it. “You always see the patterns. It’s one of the reasons I value you.”
Value. Usually the word felt like praise. Today it nudged at something uncertain—but she forced herself to remember the years he’d invested in her career.
“I’m not imagining this,” she said. “The data’s been scrubbed. Someone removed outliers, smoothed variance that shouldn’t have smoothed.”
His smile didn’t fade, but the warmth behind it cooled a degree. Less frost, more fatigue. “You have to be careful not to overinterpret. You’re brilliant, but brilliance can run away with itself if you let it.”
Hale stood then, coming around the desk. The gesture was meant to be reassuring, paternal. It only made her pulse jump. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder—light, but impossible to shrug off without escalating the moment.
“I’m telling you there is nothing to worry about the NorthBridge account. You found something initially. That’s excellent work. But when a second look shows no smoke? There’s no fire.”
Her jaw tightened in frustration at not being able to bridge the gap between her instincts and his confidence. She forced her voice to stay level. “I’m not overinterpreting, Richard. I ran the data three different ways. The anomalies weren’t noise—someone intentionally removed them.”
He lifted one shoulder in a mild, almost indulgent shrug, the kind he used in staff meetings when someone brought him a problem he’d already decided didn’t matter. “Or it was simply cleaned up by the vendor. These things happen all the time. NorthBridge has always been...thorough.”
He wasn’thearingher—not because he didn’t care, but because he’d already decided the political momentum mattered more. She kept her hands clasped to hide how they wanted to curl. “Not this thorough. And not all at once, overnight, with no version logs showing the changes.”
Hale’s expression didn’t shift, but the pause that followed was just a hair too long. A recalibration. Like he was mildly annoyed to be pulled sideways from the narrative he believed in.
“At some point,” he said smoothly, “you have to trust the system. Not everything is a conspiracy.”
“I didn’t say it was a conspiracy,” she replied, more sharply than intended. “There’s a lot she’s not sharing, even with us.”
“Every candidate keeps a few cards in the inner pocket, Norah,” he said lightly. “It’s politics, not treason.”
“I don’t want Summit tied to something unstable.” She inhaled through her nose, steadying herself. “If NorthBridge data is being manipulated while Morris is positioning herself for a presidential run, that should matter to us.”
“You sound nervous.” His tone remained warm, but the air shifted a degree colder. “Is there something you’re not telling me?”
Her breath caught and she hoped he didn’t hear it. She thought of her apartment. The overturned drawers. The missing notebook.
The sudden certainty that someone at Summit had been looking over her shoulder all along.
“If you are as ambitious and intelligent as I have believed for the last ten years? As I have advocated to the partners? Then you’ll recognize that in the end what matters,” he said, “is that Summit is aligned with the winning coalition. Senator Morris has vision, momentum, and influence. Being close to her helps the firm. It helps all of us. Including you. You’ve worked hard to be where you are.”
Her pulse thudded harder. Had she never noticed the pressure under the praise?
“And the gala is part of that alignment,” he went on. “A show of support. A signal that we’re in the room, not watching from the hallway. The NorthBridge account is fine.”
He softened his tone again—coaxing, persuasive, the voice of the man who had built her career with encouragement and open doors. “Enjoy yourself at the gala. Make connections. Standbeside me when Morris speaks. After this week blows over, you’ll see everything much more clearly.”
“I’m being cautious,” she said. “We both know public alliances can turn quickly if the foundation isn’t solid.”
