Joseph Brant lifts a brow. “Hm?”
“You slept with your assistant in the early 2000s,” I say, because I’m done being polite. “You married her. She’s currently your wife of twenty years.” I turn back to Karen. “Shall we pretend that never happened for the sake of your faux outrage?” A ripple courses through the room, creating discomfort,reluctant amusement, and a few stiff expressions that screamhe’s right.
Joseph sets his glass down with deliberate calm and leans back. “For the record, Karen,” he says, voice dry, “Anthony’s not wrong. She chased me like a damn bloodhound.”
Karen’s expression tightens. “That is hardly?—”
“It’s exactly relevant,” Joseph cuts in. “Because what you’re doing is not about ethics. It’s about control.”
Karen’s gaze snaps to him. “You’re defending him?”
“I’m defending the company,” Joseph says. “Which is what you claim you’re doing, although you’re not very convincing.”
My lips quirk up at the edges. Karen looks back at me, jaw clenched now. “Even if you survive this, Anthony, people will talk.”
“Then let them talk,” I say, voice flat. “We will keep it quiet. There will be no press exposure, no public spectacle, and no damage to the brand. Let me remind the rest of you that I have led this company through a scandal you all benefited from without letting it collapse.” I don’t say Natalie’s name. I don’t need to, but the ghost of it hangs in the air, regardless.
Joseph nods once. Most of the others follow, eyes cautious but sensible. They want stability and they want money. They want the stock to hold. They do not want to gamble on Karen’s power grab dressed up as moral concern. I watch the realization dawn on Karen in real time. “This is not over,” she says quietly, for me alone.
“No,” I sigh. “It isn’t, is it?” The meeting ends without a vote, which is its own kind of victory. I walk out with my head held high, expression unchanged, but inside I’m already tallying the damage. Karen planted a seed. Even if it didn’t bloom today, it’s in the soil now, and some of these people, the cowards, opportunists, andparasites, will water it if they think it’ll benefit them.
Back in my office, I shut the door and stand still for a moment, letting the quiet settle. Then I pull my phone out and call my head of security. “Run a full background sweep on Aidan Snow,” I say. I’d already floated the idea when I saw her with Aidan at lunch. Now it’s on. “Financial connections, legal teams, intermediaries—anything that links him to our board members.”
A pause. “Specifically, Ms. Bartley?”
“Specifically, Ms. Bartley.”
“Understood.”
I end the call and open my laptop, pulling up communication logs and recent event reports. Karen was overconfident today. Too composed. She’s not bluffing. She’s building something that will make her accusation stick even if it’s nonsense. But when my eyes look over the data, my attention keeps slipping, dragging back toward the empty space in that chair in April’s office. She’s still not here. She’s two hours late. Normally, I’d be furious. Now, I’m just worried. I shouldn’t care, I know that; she’s allowed to be late. She’s human. She has a life outside of this building. But I don’t know where she is or where she could possibly be. She hasn’t called or tried to notify me, and she’s supposed to be here. I need to find her, so I pull out my phone and text her.
Me:
You’re late.
The reply comes a minute later.
April:
I’m running an errand. I’ll be in soon.
Me:
I didn’t send you on an errand.
April:
It’s personal
It’s a normal answer, a simple one even. But something about it feels clipped, like she’s holding something back.
Me:
There was a board meeting this morning. Karen brought up what she saw. They know.
It takes her two minutes to reply this time.
April:
