Her tone made it sound like a compliment.
It didn’t feel like one.
The door opened again, harder this time.
Charles Harrington III stumbled in. Better known as Trip.
Norah’s breath snagged.
He wasn’t the slick, smooth operator she’d seen in Fortune magazine and on the Wall Street Network coverage. His tie was crooked, his hair damp at the temples, his eyes too wide. There was a sheen of sweat on his face that had nothing to do with the ballroom heat.
Two large men in suits followed him in, one with a hand clamped on his arm. Not hotel security.
Sidarov didn’t turn. She didn’t have to. The muscles in Trip’s jaw clenched at the sight of her profile.
“Ms. Sidarov,” he started, voice too loud in the quiet room. “I—I can explain?—”
“Of course you can,” she said mildly. “That is what you are here for.”
He swallowed, Adam’s apple bobbing. His gaze flicked to Hale, then to Morris, then—desperately—to Norah, as if just realizing she was there.
His expression changed. His panic sharpened into something like accusation.
“You,” he said. “You’re the . . . you’re the one who found?—”
“That’s enough,” Hale said quietly.
Norah’s spine went rigid. Her heartbeat thudded in her ears. Found what?
Trip ignored Hale, his words tumbling over each other. “You weren’t supposed to see those transfers. We had it contained. I cleaned it. I did what I was told, and then you?—”
Sidarov lifted one finger.
The room went still.
Morris’s smile slipped, replaced by a tight, professional neutrality. Hale’s features smoothed into placid attentiveness.
Trip’s voice choked off mid-word.
Sidarov finally turned fully to face him.
“I am very tired,” she said conversationally. “Do you know why, Mr. Harrington?”
Trip’s mouth opened, but no sound came out beyond a pitiful wheeze of air.
“Because,” she continued, “for months, I have given you resources. Protection. Time. You had one task. To move my money cleanly into Morris’s campaign coffers. To make sure that when certain...ambitious projects came to fruition, no one would be able to follow the trail. Such as aggressively backing an upcoming presidential candidate.”
She tilted her head.
“And yet a woman with a spreadsheet and a notebook found you in a matter of days.”
Norah’s lungs emptied. She felt suddenly, painfully aware of her own existence, every cell buzzing with the wrongness of being there.
Trip’s gaze cut to her again, wild. “It wasn’t my fault! No one told me she’d be looking at that level?—”
“Enough,” Morris said sharply, the first true edge in her voice all evening. “You had oversight. You signed off. You assured us the NorthBridge conduits were buried.”
“I—there were last-minute changes, the shell rotations?—”
