"Fuck." Remy's quiet for a moment. "They want to coordinate raids on Armand's office and residence. Simultaneous execution."
"Tell them I'll be there soon." I glance at Andy. "We're securing evidence here."
The call ends. The forensic team catalogs every piece of equipment, every cable, every login entry, building a case that will destroy Armand Deveraux.
But underneath the tactical assessment, I'm calculating different variables. How long until Simone wakes and realizes I'm gone. How to tell her that her uncle violated her from inside her own building. How to keep her safe not just from external threats but from the emotional fallout of family betrayal.
I should care more about letting personal investment affect the job, but I don't give a fuck.
By the time I pull through the estate gates, I've run a dozen scenarios for telling her. Discarded them all. There's no good way to tell someone their family violated them this completely.
Derek is outside when I park. He nods as I approach.
"She's inside. Had breakfast, been on her laptop. Asked where you were."
I dismiss him and head for the door. Let myself into the guest house.
Simone's at the kitchen table, laptop open, coffee cup beside her. She looks up when I enter, relief flashing across her face before she controls it. The instinct to pull her against me, feel her pulse under my palm—it hits visceral and immediate.
"The warrant?" she asks.
"Executed an hour ago." I move to the coffee pot, buying seconds. "Found it. The monitoring station in your building's maintenance room."
I turn to face her. Her spine straightens, CEO armor sliding into place even as her fingers tighten around the mug.
"High-end setup," I continue. "Multiple monitors, recording equipment, dedicated server. Everything needed to monitor camera feeds in real-time. And the access logs show exactly who used it."
Her face pales. "Armand."
"He used his real credentials. His name, his Deveraux Oil employee ID, his personal keycard. Logged in regularly, monitored feeds for hours at a time."
She stands abruptly, the movement sharp. Walks toward the window before catching herself, stopping, turning back. Her hands shake before she fists them.
"He was there." Her voice stays steady despite everything. "In my building. Watching."
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Logs go back months. Equipment's sophisticated enough it could've been there longer."
She presses her palm against her stomach, breathing deliberately. I move closer but don't touch her yet. Let her process on her own terms first.
"Months," she repeats. "Watching me for months. From inside LaCroix Petroleum."
"FBI's involved now. Federal jurisdiction—wire fraud, conspiracy, witness tampering. They're coordinating raids on Armand's office and residence, looking for communications, evidence of coordination with Julien."
"When?"
"Today. Staging now." I step into her space, cup the back of her neck. Her pulse races under my palm. "Once they arrest him, this goes public. Call Henry."
She nods but doesn't move. Just stands there, my hand on her neck, processing the violation.
"There was a time I trusted him," she says quietly, "before my father died. I thought—" She stops, swallows. "I thought he cared about the company. About family legacy."
"He cared about control." I pull her closer. "When you wouldn't give it to him, he tried to take it."
She leans into me then, forehead against my shoulder. Not crying. Just holding on while her world reshapes itself.
