Page 138 of Secret Heir For The Billionaire Twin

Twice, I take out my personal phone with every intention of calling Sophie. The first time, I am alone in my office after midnight. Her name is still near the top of my recent calls, and seeing it brings back the image of her standing in the foyer at the estate, looking at me as though neither of us believed goodbye meant anything permanent. My thumb hovers over her number. Then I hear Preston's voice again.

What exactly did she have access to in Italy?

I hate that the question has followed me here. I know what Sophie was authorized to see. I know what we discussed professionally. I also know how much time we spent alone, how easily the boundaries between interview and conversation disappeared, and how little attention I paid to categorizing every word once she stopped feeling like a journalist sitting across from me.

I don't believe she betrayed me.

The problem is that belief and certainty are no longer the same thing.

I start going back through conversations I hadn't questioned when they happened. Questions she asked over dinner. Things she noticed in Milan. The hours we spent talking without a recorder or notebook between us. None of it feels sinister when I replay it, but I am now surrounded by people whose job is to find exposure in ordinary details.

My phone rings before I make the call.

Vivian.

I answer.

“Tell me something good.”

“I can't,” Vivian says.

“Conference room three. Ten minutes.”

The phone returns to my pocket.

Sophie remains uncalled.

Two days later, I try again.

I make it as far as opening a new message.

Julian: Are you back in Philadelphia?

I stare at the words.

They look harmless.

But nothing feels harmless anymore.

Daniel knocks before entering my office.

“Outside counsel moved the executive review up,” he says.

“They need you downstairs now.”

“What happened?”

“New request from Brussels.”

I delete the unfinished message and stand. By the end of the week, the investigation has swallowed every private channel I normally take for granted.

The legal briefing happens late Friday afternoon. Vivian sits at the far end of the conference table with Martin Ellis and two additional attorneys from outside counsel. Adrian is beside me, reading through a preservation memorandum thick enough to make the point before anyone explains it.

Martin closes his laptop.

“We need to discuss communications discipline.”

Adrian looks up. “Again?”