“The DA’s office doesn’t care about plans.” Maria’s voice is clipped. Professional. “They care about compliance. And right now, Ms. Wells is required to comply.”
Required. Compliance. Legal language. Real legal language.
This isn’t a rescue. This is an actual investigation. I’m being pulled into something and I don’t know what I did wrong but I must have done something?—
“I can accompany her?—”
“They specified she come alone.” Maria steps forward. “My office got the call. Confidential investigation. I’m sure you understand.”
Confidential investigation.
My career. My bar application. Everything I’ve worked for.
Marcus’s hand tightens. I feel my hip bone shift under the pressure.
“I’ll accompany her,” he says again. Like he didn’t hear. Like her words don’t matter.
“Confidential investigation.” Patricia steps closer. Flanking me. Her face betrays nothing. “You know the rules, Controller Ashford. Subjects can’t bring... interested parties.”
Subject. The word lands like a verdict.
I’m being investigated. Actually investigated. By the DA’s office. At 10 PM on a Friday night. Which means it’s serious. Which means someone found something. Which means?—
Do not go near her.
Dom’s voice cuts through my panic. The stairwell. The warning Marcus is ignoring with every touch.
What if this isn’t about the transition documents at all?
What if someone found out about the stairwell? About what I heard? What if Dom realized I was in the building that night and this whole thing is?—
“Dylan isn’t a subject.” Marcus’s voice drops. Dangerous. “She’s my?—”
He stops. Can’t finish that sentence in public. Can’t claim ownership out loud where people might hear.
But his hand finishes it for him. Pressing into my hip like a brand.
“Marcus! MARCUS!”
James Morrison. Drunk City Council President. Stumbling down the hallway with two aides trying to corral him.
“Marcus, you got to help me out here, buddy.” He’s slurring. Loud. Drawing attention. “The Building Trades are pulling their endorsement! Johnny Doc’s guys are saying you promised?—”
“James, not now?—”
“NOW! It’s got to be now!” Morrison grabs Marcus’s arm. Desperate drunk energy. People looking. Recording on phones. “They’re threatening to primary me! You said you’d handle the unions!”
Marcus’s head turns. Just for a second.
Alaina’s hand closes around my wrist. Pulls.
His grip breaks.
I stumble backward. Patricia catches me. Maria’s already moving, putting her body between me and Marcus.
“We’ll have Ms. Wells back within the hour,” Alaina says smoothly. “I’m sure this is just a formality.”
Marcus isn’t listening to her. He’s looking at me. At Alaina’s hand on my wrist. At the way I’m being pulled away from him.
