“Specify?” Agent Park asks; he’s the silent, observant type.
“He always pushed for exponential growth. Sometimes into paths I wasn’t willing to go.”
“Illegal paths?” Park asks.
“He pushed boundaries. But I never let him overstep. I’d never risk the company.”
“You seem prepared,” Park notes.
“I always am. That’s why I’m as successful as I am.”
They ask for the footage and the threat list. I provide it.
Before they leave, I ask, “So you think he was murdered?”
“We’re gathering information,” Agent Reese says. “A death this close to an IPO, the nature of your business, his connections—you understand.”
They advise me to be careful. As if I’m not already.
“He had the same protection as I do,” I say. “If not more extensive.”
“Did he ever mention why he needed so much protection?”
“We all need protection. Jared was a bit paranoid sometimes, but we all received death threats. There were open protests. I once had a dead rat stabbed onto my front door. He had an unknown powder in the mail. People love threatening us. I always believed that since I’m the CEO and the one who had the idea, I’m the main target, especially as a woman.”
The agents leave, and the moment the door slides closed, my mask drops. A rare moment of vulnerability crushes me and makes me roll back my shoulders. I can’t tell what it is, but that sensation in me is rooted in fear. Fear of being next, or worse, the past catching up with me.
He died in his own home, they were Pro’s, whispers the fear in me.
“It was an overdose,” I tell myself sharply. His drug use has been extensive. He crashed often. Maybe he simply overdid it.
Still, I text my bodyguard Doug to be on high alert, not that he wouldn’t be.
Six hours later, I leave the office with Doug by my side, and we step into the Manhattan night. He’s the only person I trust right now. My body is worn out, and my mind acts like a squirrel on cocaine. I glance left and right constantly, expecting someone to jump at me.
Nothing whatsoever happens. Doug’s hand, guiding me softly to the armoured car, calms me. He seems to be less on edge than I am.
My brownstone on the Upper East Side means peace, usually. But tonight, fear overcomes me and chews on my insides like a growling monster waiting for me to snap.
Jared had security, too. Look where that got him,a voice in me whispers.
“Doug,” I say, leaning forward. “Break the routine. I want a hotel. High security. Book it under a false name, and decoy the house.”
“Yes, Lil, of course.”
The Ritz-Carlton checks me in twenty minutes later. After a thorough sweep of the room, a glass of red wine, and several deep breaths, I feel safe enough to call Jared’ssecurity.
“It’s me, Lilian,” I say as soon as they pick up. “Tell me what you know.”
Jared’s head of security tells me what happened and how no one entered or exited the apartment around the time of his death. He also tells me that Jared got a new delivery of cocaine this week.
Room service arrives mid-call.
A gorgeous red-haired woman pushes in the cart—long legs, incredible ass. Doug checks her with a quick body search and nods to me. I gesture for her to come in and set the plate down. She arranges everything perfectly, plates, food, cutlery, and I love it. My life runs on perfection, from my meals to my business.
“And you know nothing?” I ask the head of security. “Nothing on the cameras?”
“No, nothing.”
