The elevator is empty. I lean back against the wall and watch the numbers count down to the lobby.
We did it.
The Board approved. Aldridge capped his pen. The Developer called us a powerhouse. And Tom credited my design in front of the people writing the checks.
I walk straight to the coffee cart in the lobby. I order a flat white and stand there while the barista steams the milk. The counter is sticky. The line is loud. I don't check my email. I don't make a to-do list.
I just drink my coffee and let myself feel it for thirty seconds. We won. This round.
By the time I get back to my desk, the feeling is already fading.
I set my bag down and wake up my laptop. The meeting minutes are already in my inbox. Timestamp: 10:14 AM. Seven minutes after the vote.
I open it, expecting a standard compliance check. My hand stops.
The last file is labeled:Perimeter Activity — Follow-Up. Site: Harbor District.
It’s the same alert I read two weeks ago. I already knew Tom was the one who triggered it. But today, for the first time, I look at the CC list at the top of the finalized email.
Sloane Rafferty. Richard. The Developer's Office.
My chest goes tight. All three of them knew. Before I ever met him at the gate, before I ever shook his hand, they knew he was a massive liability.
I switch tabs.
Tom's hero shot fills my screen. The one Aldridge just approved. The one going into the bid package. It’s a perfect angle—high, wide, catching the light in a way you simply can't get from the street.
I stand up and go to the window.
In the boardroom, Tom answered questions effortlessly. Point-two-three. Thirty percent. Summer solstice. He was brilliant. The developer literally called us a dream team. And they just unanimously approved his work.
I look back at the screen. I am completely trapped by how good he is.
My thumb presses into the edge of the desk until it hurts. I scroll back to the CC line on the compliance report.Richard. Sloane.
This wasn’t just Tom making a reckless choice. This was my bosses seeing his stunt, deciding the photos were worth the legal risk, and intentionally hiding it from me.
They put him with me on purpose.
They saw a brilliant liability, handed him to the woman who never breaks protocol, and let me absorb the risk without telling me.
I click back to the hero shot.
This morning, I stood next to him while billionaires nodded at that photo. The room went quiet when it hit the screen.
Heck, even I looked at it and thought the same thing Aldridge did.
It's better than anything I could have captured.
I watched Aldridge stop tapping his pen. I let Tom take the question. I let the room believe we were a buttoned-up, airtight unit.
But my name is on the deck.
If he does it again—if he climbs something he shouldn’t, if he gets caught, if someone gets hurt—this won’t just be"the photographer took a risk."
It’ll be"Why didn’t Sam Morgan control her team?"
I need the Boss Babes' help.
