That truth—those possibilities threaded through it—carried me through the morning.
Through the ache of pulling myself away from her warmth, from the softness of her body against my pillow.
But it was also the thing that ignited something sharp and bright inside me.
A fire.
A purpose.
A renewed, brutal clarity to put her world together—piece by piece, name by name—until nothing that had torn her apart could ever touch her again.
The fire in me didn’t dim—not when I showered, not when I dressed, not when I checked on her one last time.
And it sure as hell didn’t dim when I walked down to the garage.
My car sat parked near the back, shadows pooled across the concrete around it. I clicked the remote start, warming it for the person already sitting inside.
I reached the door, yanking the handle the way I did every morning—but today wasn’t every morning.
Today was the day Davidson fell.
The day the board saw exactly who’d been sabotaging Emma.
The day everything shifted—one way or another.
I slid into the driver’s seat, the heat from the vents already rolling through the cabin, and Phil lifted his attention from the folder on his lap.
“Morning,” he said, like he hadn’t broken into my car before sunrise.
He dropped the updated folder into my lap the second my door closed, the weight of it landing like a verdict. “Davidson’s worse than we thought.”
I flipped the cover open. A photo of Gregory Davidson stared back—arrogant, entitled, terrified in the grainy night-vision shot Phil’s people must’ve taken.
“Start talking,” I said.
“Estate tied up. Assets frozen. Litigation everywhere,” Phil rattled off. “He’s hemorrhaging liquidity. He needs cash now. Can’t get it without pulling out of Elion. And pulling out after the merger would make him look like a fucking idiot.”
My jaw tightened. Emma had taken that bastard’s attacks personally—his criticism, his condescension, his impossible demands. All while he was just trying to create chaos big enough to justify an exit.
I looked up. “Show me.”
Phil flipped the page. Financial diversions. Shell companies. R&D siphons going back six quarters—the exact window Davidson demanded in his audit.
“He requested a preliminary audit,” I muttered, fury rising, “so he could get the documents he needed to justify pulling out.”
Phil nodded once. “He was building his escape hatch. And Emma was collateral damage.”
“Your intimidation tactic worked?” I asked.
Phil smirked faintly. “Let’s just say he’s no longer an obstacle.”
A pause. And understanding.
“And his people?”
“One’s in hiding. One’s reconsidering his loyalties.” Phil’s smile sharpened. “One rediscovered how fragile elbows actually are.”
I didn’t react.
