Tall. Well-fed but not soft. Moves with the confidence of someone who's never faced real consequences. Expensive watch. Silk tie. Manicured hands that have never done violence themselves but paid others to do it for them.
Easy kill. Civilian. No training. Wouldn't see it coming.
I force my breathing steady. Not here. Not now. Simone needs to win this her way.
But I memorize the distance between us. The angle of approach. Where his vulnerabilities are. How long it would take to cross the room and put him down before anyone could stop me.
Someday.
"Apologies for my tardiness," he says. Voice smooth, unbothered. "I was finishing a call with our legal team."
He sits without waiting for permission. Takes the seat opposite Simone. Claiming equality at this table.
"I see you've started without me," he continues, gesturing to the documents. "Let me save everyone some time. Yes, payments were made through a Deveraux subsidiary. But not for surveillance. For legitimate business purposes that happen to involve the same individual."
Simone's expression doesn't change but I see her hand tighten on the armrest. She knows what's coming.
"What business purposes?" Eleanor asks.
Armand's smile turns sympathetic. Almost regretful. The performance is good. Practiced. The kind of lie that comes easy to men who've been destroying people for profit their entire lives.
"Security consulting," he says. "Julien LaSalle's firm provides security assessments for our offshore operations. The payments Henry's showing you funded that work. When Julien expressed concern about Simone's increasingly erratic behavior anddangerous associations, I asked him to document what he observed. Not to discredit her. To protect her."
The lie is smooth. Rehearsed. He's reframing the evidence before it can sink in, turning surveillance into family concern.
"That's bullshit," she says. Voice sharp but controlled. "You paid him to stalk me. To photograph me without consent. To create leverage you could use to force me out."
"Can you prove that?" Armand asks. "Or are these the accusations of someone under tremendous stress? Someone whose judgment has been compromised?"
There it is. The attack. Not just on her leadership. On her competence. On everything he can use to make the board doubt her.
I watch his face. Memorize the expression. The entitled certainty that he'll win because he always has. Men like Armand think they're untouchable.
They're wrong.
Henry stands. "The preliminary evidence speaks for itself. Shell corporation. Offshore payments. Timeline that directly correlates with business disputes. This isn't security consulting. It's corporate sabotage with a stalking operation as cover."
Armand shakes his head sadly. "Henry, I respect your loyalty to Simone. But look at the situation objectively. She's been making decisions that concern multiple board members. Rejecting profitable opportunities. And now we learn she's been involved with someone she claims was stalking her—which is it? Was he providing security assessments or was he her stalker? Because the story keeps changing based on what's convenient."
I watch the board members' faces. Some are still with her. Others are wavering. Doubt spreading. He's good at this. Twisting facts. Creating confusion. Using the truth as camouflage for lies.
The silver-haired board member shifts in his chair. Leans back. Crosses his arms. Uncertainty in every line of his body. He was with Simone when the meeting started. Now he's calculating risk.
The woman two seats down won't make eye contact with Simone. Guilt. She's already decided.
But the younger board member near the window—tech background, brought in after the Brazilian deal—keeps his eyes on the financial documents Henry distributed. Reading. Processing. Not buying Armand's performance.
I count allies. Reassess threats. Some solid with Simone. A couple genuinely evaluating evidence. Several already lost to Armand's decades of influence. The rest hedge their bets. Cowards.
Simone sits perfectly still at the head of the table. Spine straight. Hands folded. But I see the tell—thumb pressing against the inside of her wrist. Keeping herself grounded. Holding it together.
She's holding. Barely.
"Mr. Deveraux raises questions that warrant consideration," the silver-haired board member says. "I think we need time to review all the evidence. Perhaps an independent investigation."
"We don't have time for that," she says. "Armand is trying to destabilize this company because I won't let him control it. Everything he's saying is designed to make you doubt my judgment. Don't let him manipulate you."
Before anyone can respond, the conference room door opens. A woman in a sharp suit enters, carrying papers. She moves directly to Armand, leans down, whispers.
