Bea opened her bag, fingers unsteady, and passed him an envelope.
“They’re photos from last year,” she said. “The Trenor audit. They’re real, but they’re not.”
She didn’t make sense until he opened it.
It felt like taking a strike flush to the face. Bright, disorienting, instant. His vision flashed white. His pulse roared in his ears. All he could see was Bea. Dao. A door closing. His mind finished what the photo started. Supplied the night, gave it sounds. Hers.
Before he knew what he was doing, his hands ripped, once, twice, shredding the images into nothing. She would never. It didn’t belong to her. It wasn’t them. He could endure everything, exceptthat.
Bea startled. That snapped him back. He drew air in through his nose, slow and controlled, let it out through his teeth. He made himself loosen his jaw.
“Nothing happened,” she said quickly. “I wasn’t wearing that. You know?—”
“I know.” Too sharp. She flinched. He drew another slow breath. “I know,” he repeated, softer. “Baby, look at me.I know.”
Months ago, in the dark of his bedroom, she’d confessed she liked it when they were eye to eye. Not craning. Equal. Since then, he’d made a habit of lifting her onto counters, benches, the edge of his desk when something mattered. He didn’t tower when it counted.
So he sat. Lowered himself to the bench, elbows braced on his knees, removing the distance his height created.
“Look at me, little Bea,” he said again.
She searched his face. He held her gaze, making it clear. There was no doubt. He was angry, but none of it belonged to her.
Memory aligned in fragments. The Trenor audit. Her voice on the phone. Channing in the room. Work. Only work.
And a careful, calculated edit.
“Someone altered these,” Rafael said. “Where’d you get them?”
“From Oliver Fox. He said they were delivered to him. And emailed.”
Rafael’s eyes narrowed.
“He’s not going to run them,” she said. “He showed me as a favor.”
“You trust him?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I have no reason not to.”
“Where is he?”
“Still in Northgate for a week or two.”
Rafael’s hand slid into his pocket. He pressed a name. “Inside. Now.”
Channing was there in seconds. Rafael said only one word. “Fox.”
“Recorded the whole thing,” Channing said, holding out his phone.
Rafael took it, already dialing a second number. “Max. Get over here.”
He hung up.
Bea bit her lip. “Oliver also said that because we’ve kept things so private, people don’t have any context. So if this gets out, they’ll latch onto it as truth that much faster.”
Rafael’s expression didn’t change. “That’s probably true.”
Bea’s gaze snapped to his. “You’re agreeing with him?”
