Her fingers curl tighter in her lap. "And if he's not?"
"Then we find someone else." I pull up to the gate, enter the code Simone provided. "But you said he mentored your father. He supported your appointment as CEO. That loyalty runs deep or it doesn't exist at all."
The gate swings open. The driveway curves through manicured grounds to an antebellum mansion lit with subtle landscape lighting. Security cameras track our approach. I can spot motion sensors from here. Good setup—not tactical-grade, but better than most civilian installations.
Henry Castellanos waits on the front gallery. He's old enough to have built empires with Simone's father. Silver hair, the bearing of someone who survived decades of calculated risks and careful alliances. He's in casual clothes but fully alert. He shows no signs of sleep despite the late hour.
Simone exits the SUV before I can open her door. Old habits—CEO taking control of her own movements. I let it go. Pick your battles.
"Simone." Henry descends the steps. "What's happened?"
"I need your counsel." She meets him halfway. "And your discretion."
His gaze shifts to me. Assessing. The look I've seen from COs evaluating new operatives.
"Henry Castellanos, Luc Pascal." Simone handles the introduction with practiced ease. "Luc is Head of Operations for Rapier Strategic. They're handling my security."
"Security." Henry's expression doesn't change, but I catch the shift in his posture. "Come inside."
The home office is exactly what I'd expect. Dark wood, leather furniture, walls lined with books and framed photographs documenting decades of business and family history. Henry gestures us to chairs, closes the door.
"Talk to me."
Simone lays it out. Clean, direct, no corporate polish. "Someone's been surveilling me at Dominion for weeks?—"
"What's Dominion?" Henry asks.
"A lifestyle club." Simone's voice doesn't waver.
Henry nods once. She watches him carefully. "Do you know what that means?"
"I'm old, Simone, not dead."
The corner of her mouth lifts briefly before she continues. "Professional-grade surveillance equipment. Photographs delivered to my office, home, gym. Threats escalating from observation to direct timeline. Tonight's camera planted in a private room despite security sweeps. Facial recognition identified Julien LaSalle in disguise as a maintenance worker."
Henry's face remains neutral, but his knuckles go white on the arms of his chair when she mentions the photographs. When she finishes, he's silent for a long moment.
"Armand." Not a question.
"We believe so. Julien LaSalle is a former scene partner. Obsessive behavior, crossed boundaries. The club banned him months ago." Simone's voice stays level. "He's also an attorney who does legal work for Armand's exploration division. Armond’s been his primary contact."
"So Julien provides the obsession," Henry says slowly. "Armand provides the resources and timing."
His jaw sets. "The Gulf acquisition vote. He's waited until you're most vulnerable to strike."
"That's our assessment."
Henry stands, moves to the window. Looks out at grounds he's probably walked a thousand times. "Your father and I built LaCroix Petroleum together. Started as wildcatters with more ambition than sense. He trusted me with his company when he died. Trusted me to protect his daughter's inheritance." He turns back. "Armand has been positioning himself for years. Building alliances. Waiting for an opening. I've blocked him at every turn because your father would have wanted you to lead, not him."
"I know."
"This surveillance footage. How explicit?"
"Explicit enough to cause a scandal if leaked before the vote," I say. "Not explicit enough to matter if she controls the narrative first."
Henry's gaze sharpens on me. "You're recommending she go public."
"I'm recommending she frame this as being targeted rather than being caught. Tell the board someone is stalking her. Using her private life as leverage. Make Armand's play impossible before he makes it."
