“I’m proposing that you let me out,” she said. “Release me from the parts of this you can. I won’t talk. I won’t blow any whistles. I don’t want to sabotage your deals or your candidate or your board seats. I just...don’t want to be in the room when people die for these plans.”
He stared at her.
The seconds stretched, long and thin.
He could say yes, she told herself. He could see that this was too much. He could remember that she had never lied to him, that she had never betrayed him, that the only reason he trusted her work was because she cared about the truth, and he could let her walk away on that basis.
“Norah,” he said slowly, “you know I care about you.”
The past tense would have been kinder.
“You’re brilliant. Loyal. Exceptionally useful,” he continued. “I have invested a great deal in your career. And I had every intention of bringing you into a position of significant influence as we move forward with Senator Morris’s plans.”
Had.
“But if you insist on framing things in such...moral absolutes,” he went on, “you put me in an impossible position.”
Her hands went cold. “What position is that?”
“Wondering,” he said softly, “if I can trust you not to become a liability.”
There it was. No metaphor. No slogan.
“I told you,” she said. “I won’t talk. I’ll walk away. I won’t?—”
“It’s not about what you intend,” he said. “It’s about what pressure does to people. You’re rattled now. Understandably. You’ve just had your first close encounter with how this world actually operates. But what about when the guilt grows? When fear keeps you up at night? When some investigator with a badge and a righteous cause starts asking questions and offers you immunity in exchange for a confession?”
He shook his head once. “You think you know what you’d do. You don’t.”
“I know myself better than you do,” she said, though the words landed weaker than she wanted.
He tilted his head, considering her, and in that moment she saw the line being drawn. Asset on one side. Risk on the other.
“You should’ve gone home when I told you to let NorthBridge go,” he said quietly. “You should’ve trusted me.”
“I did,” she whispered. “That’s the problem.”
Before he could respond, a new voice cut in, smooth as silk and cool as winter.
“Richard.”
Sidarov.
Norah hadn’t seen her approach. One second they were alone on the edge of the crowd. The next, the woman was simply there, presence filling the alcove with unnerving ease. Senator Morris stood half a step behind her, smile still pasted on for the benefit of anyone watching, but her eyes were sharp, curious.
“Am I interrupting?” Sidarov asked.
Hale straightened instinctively. “Of course not.”
Her gaze slid to Norah, taking in her tight shoulders, the tension in her jaw, the way her fingers strangled the clutch.
“She’s shaken,” Sidarov interrupted, not unkindly. “Of course she is. It was a...decisive moment.”
Norah’s stomach lurched.
Sidarov turned her attention fully on Hale. When she spoke, it was in the tone of someone confirming a schedule, not discussing human beings.
“Is she still useful?” she asked.
