The words circle, without making any sense. The logo on the clothes Jace left on my doorstep. And on all the clothes and rest of gear that exist in this house.
They own it. They built it…
…The morality clause.
"It's my fault, really." Owen's voice cuts through the loop. He's still at the desk, still facing the laptop he hasn't closed, and his tone has the clinical precision of a man performing surgery on himself without anesthesia. "I was the one who insisted on the clause. To protect brand integrity from any wrong doing from the investment fund. To ensure that nothing could damage what we'd built through misconduct or association." A pause. "It goes both ways."
"Are you saying what Maya did is wrong? She is not the one to blame here." Jace moves away from me, toward Owen, and the air between them has changed temperature. "Because she's not the one who—"
"That's not what I'm saying."
"It sounds exactly like—"
"It's not." Owen's voice rises. "I'm stating what the clause says. I'm stating what a fund's legal team will argue if this material surfaces and is connected to us. I'm not assigning blame. I'm just saying what will happen."
"She just told us she was—"
"I know what she told us." Owen's eyes flash. The composure cracks wider. "I know exactly what she told us. I've been looking at the evidence of it on this screen for the last ten minutes."
"Both of you." Reid interjects with a commanding voice. "Not now."
Jace turns. "Then when, Reid? When do we—"
"Not. Now."
Jace exhales through his nose, sharp and hard, the controlled exhale of a man redirecting energy that wants to become something destructive.
Reid looks at me. The blue-green eyes steady, holding, offering the anchor he's offered since the first week. But I see the fracture in it. Small. A hairline crack in the steadiness, a micro-expression he tries to control but I notice either way.
"There may not be a deal anymore," Owen says to no one in particular. "That's what I'm trying to—" He stops. Pulls his glasses from the desk and puts them on and takes them off again, the gesture empty, reflexive, a man reaching for a familiar action when familiar actions are the only thing left.
The argument continues.
The voices are reaching me from a distance now, muffled, like hearing conversation through water. I catch fragments…legal exposurefrom Owen…fight thisfrom Jace…need to thinkfrom Reid… and the fragments don't assemble into meaning. They float past me.
I am thinking about the men in the white truck.
The internet does not forget and It’s my fault they were here. I brought them into this house. Into this room. Into this argument that they are having.
Morality clause.
No deal.
I look at the three of them. Jace pacing. Owen at the desk with his hands flat on the surface, pressing down, as though the desk is the only thing keeping him from falling apart. Reid standing between them, trying to make them stop.
I did this.
Not the photos. Not Daniel. The argument between these men, the threat to the company they built. I did this by staying.
"... can't just ignore the contractual—"
"Nobody's ignoring anything, Owen, but if you saymoralityone more time—"
"What word would you prefer? Because the fund's lawyers won't care which word we—"
"The fund's lawyers can go—"
"Enough." Reid says, but with less force than before.
