He blinks, stunned into silence. "Excuse me?"
"You're brilliant at numbers," I continue, walking right up to the desk. "You can analyze a spreadsheet until it begs for mercy. But you are terrible at people. You think everyone operates on logic. You think if you just work harder, if you prove the math, the board will respect you."
"Ivy, get out."
"No."
I slam my phone down on top of his stack of due diligence reports. "Look at it."
He stares at the phone. Then he looks at me. "What is this?"
"It's a miracle," I say. "Look."
He picks up the phone. He swipes through the first image. His brow furrows. "This is... a villa. In St. Barths."
"Keep scrolling."
He swipes. He sees the LLC registration Mason pulled. He sees the link to Apex Capital. He swipes again. He sees the forum post from Royce_The_Man joking about the 'Boy Wonder losing his marbles.'
A suffocating silence descends on the room, sucking the oxygen right out of the air.
I watch his face. I watch the confusion morph into realization, and then into a cold, hard fury that makes the temperature in the room drop.
"Royce," he whispers. It's not a question. It's a curse.
"Royce Aston," I confirm. "He's leaking the rumors. He's driving the price down so Apex can buy the Holloway Group out from under you. And he sold his loyalty for some Italian marble and a new pool."
Brooks looks up at me. His eyes are dark, intense. "How did you get this?"
"I asked my partner to make a call," I say. "We know people. People who are very good at finding things that rich men try to hide."
He stands up. He walks around the desk. He stops in front of me, gripping the phone like a lifeline.
"You did this?" he asks. "After I kicked you out? After I told you that you were just a professional bridesmaid?"
"I'm a fixer," I remind him, crossing my arms to keep my hands from shaking. "And if you lose the vote, you have no reason to honor our agreement. I'm not doing this for you, Brooks. I'm doing it so you don't sue me."
He looks at me. He sees right through the lie.
A smile begins to form on his lips. It's not the polite smile he gives his mother. It's not the shark smile. It's something new.
It's predatory, yes, but it's shared. It's the look of a general who just realized he has a nuclear weapon.
"This kills him," Brooks says softly. "This kills Royce. If I take this to the board, if I show them he's in bed with Apex, he's out. He's ruined."
"Not just ruined," I say, tapping the phone screen. "Humiliated. He's bragging about it on a golf forum, Brooks. He thinks you're stupid. He thinks he's untouchable."
"He's wrong."
"So," I say. "What's the play? Do we email the board? Call a meeting?"
Brooks shakes his head. The exhaustion falls off him like dead weight, replaced instantly by a sharp, lethal energy.
"No," he says. "We don't email. That gives him time to spin it. We do this in person. Tonight."
"Tonight?"
"The board is having a dinner," Brooks says. "At the club. Informal. Spouses included. Royce will be there. His wife will be there."
