“That’s a big ask,” Kane replied cautiously. “Meridian handles confidential financial information. If I dig there, people will notice.”
“Use back channels,” Archer insisted. “This is important.”
After ending the call, Archer sat motionless at his desk, mind racing. The pieces didn’t quite fit yet, but patterns were emerging that couldn’t be coincidence. Morgan’s ex-boyfriend worked at a firm connected to Sullivan Enterprises. That same firm was somehow linked to Richard Jenkins’ embezzlement. And Marcus knew details that weren’t in the official reports.
Archer unlocked a secure drawer full of files in his desk, pulling out one of the red folders—his personal notes on Marcus Donovan from when he’d hired him three years ago. Impressive credentials. Harvard MBA. Ten years at a top consulting firm. Impeccable references. But something had always felt slightly off about Marcus—an ambition that ran too hot, a perfectionism that bordered on obsessive.
He’d attributed it to the qualities needed in a top-tier CFO. Now, he wasn’t so sure.
As the evening light faded outside his office windows, Archer found himself following a trail that had nothing to do with winning Morgan back and everything to do with uncovering a truth that might be far uglier than he’d imagined.
His phone buzzed again. A text from Viper:Tessa says Morgan’s not ready to talk. But she’s going to the Thursday meeting.
Archer set down the phone, conflicting missions warring in his mind. Clear Morgan’s name. Win her trust back. And now, determine exactly what Marcus Donovan was hiding.
Thursday was approaching fast. And suddenly, it felt like far more than his relationship with Morgan might hang in the balance.
24
Morgan
Wednesday morning dawned with a clarity that had been missing from Morgan’s thoughts since Monday’s devastating discovery. After spending all of Tuesday in a cocoon of trashy reality shows, ice cream, and willful ignorance—her phone remaining off, the outside world kept firmly at bay—she woke feeling if not better, at least more focused.
Tomorrow was the Sullivan Enterprises meeting. Tomorrow she would face Archer again—no, not Archer. She would face Archer Sullivan, CEO. The distinction felt important somehow, a mental separation she needed to maintain.
The scent of coffee greeted her as she padded into Tessa’s kitchen, finding her friend already dressed for work and scrolling through emails at the counter.
“You’re up early,” Tessa observed, sliding a mug toward Morgan. “Better night?”
“Not really,” Morgan admitted, accepting the coffee gratefully. “But I can’t hide forever. Tomorrow’s the meeting.”
Tessa studied her over the rim of her own mug. “Game plan?”
“Step one: bake muffins to thank my wonderful friend for harboring a fugitive from emotional disaster.” Morgan managed a small smile. “Step two: retrieve my car from my apartment. Step three: prepare to face the corporate firing squad without crying.”
“Solid plan,” Tessa nodded approvingly. “Though I’d argue you should save the baking for step three. Stress-baking after dealing with those corporate vultures would be therapeutic. Plus, they don’t deserve your culinary talents.”
Morgan laughed despite herself—the first real laugh since Monday. “You just want first dibs on blueberry muffins.”
“Guilty as charged.”
“Don’t worry, I’ll have some ready by the time you leave and you can take your pick.”
“That’s why you’re my favorite!”
For the next hour, Morgan lost herself in the methodical comfort of baking. Measuring, mixing, the precise chemistry of flour and sugar and butter coming together in perfect proportions. The activity anchored her, providing a sense of control that had been shattered by Archer’s deception.
By the time Tessa left for work—with three still-warm muffins wrapped for her commute—Morgan felt steadier. She showered and dressed with purpose, choosing an outfit that felt like armor: tailored black pants, a crisp white blouse, and the oxblood leather jacket from her riding gear. The jacket was a calculated choice—a reminder of her own strength, reclaimed from the web of lies it had emerged from.
She was scrolling through her phone for a taxi app when a knock at the door interrupted her thoughts. Tessa must have forgotten her keys. Again.
But when Morgan swung the door open, it wasn’t Tessa standing in the hallway.
It was Jason.
He looked different somehow—his usual polished appearance slightly frayed at the edges. His expensive suit couldn’t quite hide the shadows under his eyes or the nervous energy in his posture.
“Morgan,” he said, relief washing over his features. “I’ve been trying to reach you for days. You haven’t been home, and you blocked my number—”
