“Turn it off,” I say.
No one moves.
“Turn it off.”
The screen goes dark. Silence settles in the room like a lead balloon.
Sam finally speaks. “Andi, I?—”
“Don’t,” I interrupt, my voice even but unyielding. “You may not have handed those photos directly to the press, but you set this in motion the moment you hired someone to obtain them.”
“I didn’t leak anything,” he insists.
“You didn’t have to,” I reply. “Once those records were copied, they became leverage. Once they became leverage, they became currency.”
Luke’s hands tighten against the edge of the table.
“You’ve put more than me at risk,” I continue. “You stirred history that does not stay quiet.”
Sam looks genuinely unsettled now. “What does that mean?”
“It means,” I answer carefully, “there are people who benefited from those sealed records staying sealed. Now they have an incentive to protect themselves.”
The weight of that settles over the room.
We sign the documents. Then Bill opens the door and ushers in Hugh Donovan, of Donovan Enterprises. He is a huge name in commercial property development,
Hugh makes the offer, and the blood drains from both Sam and Linda's faces. Sam and Linda whisper amongst themselves while Luke gives me curious looks. I won’t look at him, though, because he can read me all too well.
Hugh’s proposal to buy the property from Sam is not charity. It is precision. He needs consolidated parcels before zoning hearings occur next week, and he is willing to pay for certainty. The offer he places before Sam will stabilize every failing venture he’s been fighting to salvage.
Sam reads the numbers twice. He signs.
The irony is not lost on me.
When it is done, I stand.
“With your newfound liquidity,” I say calmly, finally meeting Sam’s eyes, “I hope the alliances you rely on are more loyal than the ones you tested.” Then I walk toward the door.
Luke follows into the hallway. “Andi,” he says softly.
I stop but don’t face him immediately.
“I was wrong,” he continues. “I should have stood beside you the first time. I won’t make that mistake again.”
I turn then, and the vulnerability in his expression almost fractures my resolve.
“Our time has passed,” I tell him, though the words feel heavier than they should.
“It hasn’t,” he says. “We have three weeks until my fight. I don’t want to step into that ring carrying this.”
The elevator doors open behind me.
“You should have thought about that six weeks ago,” I answer quietly.
The doors close between us.
And for the first time since this began, I’m not certain whether walking away protects me… or protects him.
