POV: ALINAIt starts with a file. Quiet, cold, and unassuming. But the weight of it, the intention behind it, feels like a match held over gasoline. I don’t send it from my Ashen account. I use a burner line, a secure drop, routed through layers that Theo set up for moments just like this. Clean. Untraceable.The request goes straight to the SEC. Not flashy. Not loud. Just a nudge. A gentle suggestion to take a closer look at Cross Industries’ last two fiscal years. Not the whole thing. Just one division. The one Nathaniel inherited directly from his father. Buried in those ledgers are the ghosts of a dynasty—one bloated by power, sealed with blood money, and dressed up in sleek suits and speeches about progress.I don’t need them to dig deep. I just need them to start.Once that fuse is lit, I switch tabs. Open another burner.I attach a photo. One of their old family portraits. Nathaniel standing behind his father, his mother sitting on a velvet chair like she owned the goddamn wor
POV: NATHANIELI am still staring at my phone like a damn idiot. One message sent. No reply.She saw it. I know she saw it.Kaia.I want to believe she is just playing hard to get, but deep down I know better. Something about her silence feels personal. Like a middle finger dressed in diamonds.I try to focus on the meeting in front of me. Some client, another deal. I nod where I need to. Smile when it is expected. Shake the man’s hand, slide the contract folder back across the table. Everything is polished on the surface, the illusion I have perfected.But inside? I'm a fucking mess.I don’t even remember how the last meeting ends.The client’s talking, smiling, shaking my hand, saying something about a good deal. My mouth moves. I nod. I agree to something. Maybe.As we step out of the private lounge in the hotel, I give my usual closing line: "We'll be in touch. Appreciate the discretion."The man nods, clueless, saying something.But my eyes are locked on the glass doors of the h
POV: NATHANIELWhispers That is all I hear everywhere I go.They are all whispering.Not screaming. Not confronting me. Not cursing me out. Just... whispering. And that is worse.The worst kind of danger is the one that stays quiet. That moves underneath you like a crack in the floor you don’t notice until your whole house caves in. That is what this feels like.I am sitting in my office. Alone. Again. The morning paper is still on my desk, the headline circled in red like someone’s mocking me: “Former Cross Empire Tied to Shell Charities: Legacy or Liability?”Legacy or liability. That line keeps looping in my head.I throw the paper across the room and watch as it hits the wall and drops with a pathetic thud. No satisfaction.My phone buzzes but I don’t look at it. I already know what it is about. Every message lately has been the same: a board member asking for a “status update,” or a lawyer asking if I knew about donations to some defunct charity in 2012. I didn’t. I don’t care.
POV: ALINAIt starts with a text from Margot: "He is ready. Retired. Angry. Has receipts."I stare at it for a second too long. Not because I am unsure. But because this thread, this particular one is old. Deeper. Dirtier. It's not about Nathaniel this time. Not directly. It’s about his bloodline. The dirt under the dynasty. The secrets his father buried beneath polished charity dinners and company speeches.I reply one word: "Greenlight."Vivian handles the actual meeting. I stay out of it. She iss better at pretending this is just about corporate interests. Easier to explain that way. The man they are meeting, Charles Brentley, he used to work under the old Cross patriarch. CFO for one of the shell charity arms they funneled money through. Got pushed out quietly when he started asking questions. Paid off, silenced, and discredited.Until now.Vivian calls me the second it’s done. “Alina,” she says, voice tight. “This guy? He’s a vault. And he’s been waiting years for someone to t
POV: SASHAI haven’t slept. Not really. I’ve just been lying there in the dark, my heart pounding like it’s trying to claw out of my chest. I keep checking my phone. Nothing. Jared's gone completely quiet. I don’t know if he blocked me or if he’s just smart enough to stay away from all of this now. Probably the latter. He's not stupid. Unlike me.My room is a mess. Clothes everywhere. Coffee cups on the floor. Papers I meant to shred. And the one goddamn memo I can't stop looking at.That stupid, fake-looking Cross Industries memo about Elena. The one that claims she once tried to get rid of me. That she saw me as a threat. That she was behind the story about my fake charity laundering money years ago. I wanted to throw it out. I didn’t. I can’t.Because something about it feels too real.It’s like someone is watching us. Like someone knows exactly where to poke, where to twist. And it’s working.How stupid was I to flare up like that? And in a public space no less!I am burning my br
POV: ALINA The thing with liars is they never expect to be lied to better.I lean back in the car, legs crossed, phone in one hand, fake memo in the other. Margot made sure it looked real. Old Cross Industries letterhead, internal phrasing, Elena's clipped tone. No actual date, no actual signature—just enough to feel dangerous."Sasha Moore has become increasingly erratic. We should consider distancing her from Nathaniel. She no longer serves the family's long-term goals."I stare at it for a second, then forward it from an untraceable account. Sasha will open it. Of course she will. She's been spiraling since the leak. She’s clinging to Nathaniel harder than ever, acting like Elena’s silence means protection. But Sasha’s not stupid. Just desperate.Desperation is easy to manipulate.Theo texts me two minutes later: Sent. Delivery confirmed.Vivian’s voice cuts into my focus. “We’re almost there.”I glance up. The board meeting. One of those charity vanity things Cross Industries fun