I pour more coffee. Silent.
“The files,” I say carefully. “What kind of files?”
“Everything. Campaign finance reports, City Controller transition budget, vendor payments.” That dangerous Alex excitement when she’s onto something. “The vendor codesmatch the shell company structures I found before. Same LLC naming patterns.”
“I met Alaina Dupree last night,” I blurt out.
Alex freezes, coffee halfway to her mouth. “What?”
“Yeah. And it’s not—I mean, yes, I love her, she’s the most underrated politician in Pennsylvania, but that’s not?—”
“Dylan. Focus.”
“Right. Okay.” I take a breath. Talk faster. “So Marcus tried to take me upstairs to the XIX restaurant’s private rooms and my whole body was screaming not to go and then Alaina just appeared?—”
“Appeared?”
“With Patricia Joyce and Maria Santos and they made up this thing about Foxglove’s office needing me immediately?—”
“The DA?”
“—and then James Morrison showed up completely wasted making this huge scene about union endorsements and Marcus had to deal with him and they got me out through the service exit?—”
“Wait, slow down?—”
“Can’t slow down, need to tell you everything before I—” I’m talking at full speed now, words tripping over each other. “Alaina said this wasn’t the first time. There have been other women. They watch and they save who they can but they can’t stop him.”
“The Former House Speaker can’t stop him?”
“She knows what he is. They all know.” I’m pacing now, unable to stand still. “This whole network of women—judges, DAs, politicians—handing out emergency numbers and hoping someone survives long enough to use them and?—”
“Dylan.”
“—and they gave me so many cards, Alex. So many numbers. The bathroom attendant has cab fare. There’s a separate elevatorbank on the 19th floor. The Wawa on Broad Street has good security cameras?—”
“Dylan, breathe.”
“I am breathing. I’m also panicking. Can I do both?”
“You’re doing both very well.”
I stop pacing. Look at her.
Alex’s face has gone pale. Her hands are shaking again—not hiding it anymore, just trembling around her coffee mug.
“And Marcus—” I stop. Catch myself.
Do not go near her.
I almost say it.
“Marcus what?” Alex prompts.
“Marcus is escalating,” I say instead. “Beyond what anyone expected.”
My chest burns.
“Before we left,” I say, pushing past the guilt, “Alaina gave me her card. Two numbers. When I took it, she held onto it for a second longer. Looked me right in the eyes.”
