The air left my lungs in a sharp, painful rush.
"No," I breathed.
"What is it?" Stephen asked, his attention sharpening instantly.
"Illyana," I choked out pointing at the screen. "He fired her. He liquidated her contract."
"She was his headliner," Stephen argued, looking at the data. "She was the revenue stream for the entire quarter. He wouldn't cut her loose. It's financial suicide."
"It's damage control," I snapped, the guilt crashing over me like a wave of ice water. "I left her there, Stephen. I jumped in a car and I left her in the stadium with him."
I could see it. Vance, cornered and humiliated, turning on the one person he could punish. He couldn't get to me, so he dismantled the asset I was trying to protect.
"Open it," Stephen commanded.
I clicked the file. It was locked, encrypted, but Juno’s earlier brute-force attack on the server had left the back door ajar. The document loaded.
It was brutal. It was a standard separation agreement weaponized into a gag order.Mutual departure due to creative realignment... Signatory agrees to forfeit all future royalties in exchange for immediate settlement... Signatory agrees to indefinite non-disparagement clause...
"Clause 9," Stephen read over my shoulder, his voice turning to steel. "Total suppression of all events occuring on [Date Redacted]. Breach of this clause results in immediate clawback of settlement funds and litigation for damages estimated at..."
"Five million pounds," I finished, reading the number. "He put a five-million-pound gun to her head."
She was twenty-two. She supported her whole family in Manchester. She didn't have five million pounds. She barely had access to her own checking account without approval.
"He erased her," I whispered. "He paid her off to keep her from corroborating my story. If I claim the rider was predatory, and Illyana stays silent... I look like a liar."
I pushed the chair back, the legs scraping harshly against the floor.
"I need a phone."
"Rowan," Stephen warned, his hand tightening on the chair back. "Remember the protocol. No outgoing comms to unsecure lines. If you call her, you light up the grid."
"I don't care about the grid!" I stood up, turning to face him. "She’s alone, Stephen. She’s probably sitting in a hotel room convinced her life is over because she trusted me to handle the paperwork. I am not letting her think I abandoned her."
"It's a trap," Mateo’s voice rumbled from the doorway. He had been silent, but he was always listening. "Vance knows you'll reach out. He's watching her phone."
"Then we use the encrypted relay," I said, looking between them. "Juno said it bounces between Panama and Reykjavik. Let Vance trace it. By the time he gets a lock, I'll be off the line."
I grabbed the burner phone from the table, the one Juno had swapped out for my old one.
"Rowan," Stephen started, stepping into my personal space.
"Don't lawyer me, Stephen," I warned, my finger hovering over the keypad. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm informing you of my strategy."
Stephen looked at me. He looked at the fire in my eyes, the set of my jaw. Then, a small, terrifyingly distinct smirk touched his lips.
"I wasn't going to stop you," he said softly. "I was going to tell you to put it on speaker."
I blinked. "Oh."
"We need the audio," he explained, adjusting his glasses. "If she confirms she signed under duress, even if the NDA holds up in civil court, the coercion invalidates the spirit of the agreement. It's evidence."
I dialed.
I knew the number by heart. Not her business line, Vance would have confiscated that along with her social media logins. I dialed the emergency number I gave her mother three years ago.
The ring-back tone purred. Once. Twice.
