CHAPTER 5 — THE LAST MESSAGE

Sophie POV

"Get away from the window," Whitfield said, pulling the blinds shut. "Now."

I didn't move. My legs had forgotten how.

"Sophie." His voice sharpened. "Now."

I stumbled back from the glass, the recorder still clenched in my fist.

"Is there a back exit?" I asked, my voice barely steady.

"Through the parking garage," Whitfield said, already moving toward his desk, sweeping the folder of documents into a locked drawer. "I'll walk you down. Don't run. Don't look at him if he's still there. Just walk."

This is real. This is actually real. Someone is standing outside this building because of what I know.

We took the stairwell instead of the elevator. Whitfield's hand stayed at my elbow the entire way down, steering me through a service corridor I never knew existed, out into a parking garage that smelled like exhaust and concrete.

"Take my car," he said, pressing keys into my hand. "Leave yours here. If he's watching the street, he's watching for your car, not mine."

"Whitfield, I can't just—"

"You can, and you will," he said, his voice firm in a way I hadn't heard from him before. "Go home. Lock the doors. Call me the moment you're inside."

I drove his unfamiliar car through unfamiliar streets, checking the mirror every few seconds, my hands white-knuckled on the wheel.

No one followed. Or if they did, I never saw them.

By the time I got home, my hands were shaking too badly to fit the key in the lock on the first try.

Inside, I sat with my back against the door, the recorder still gripped tight in my palm.

He said he wasn't sure it wasn't an accident. Now I'm sure. Someone is out there right now because Adrian tried to expose them, and they're not done just because he's gone.

I looked down at the recorder.

Whatever's on this — I need to hear it. I need to know everything he knew before it's too late for me too.

I pressed play.

There was a long pause of static. Then a breath. Then Adrian's voice, low and rough, unlike anything I'd ever heard from him before.

"If you're hearing this, then I probably waited too long again."

My chest caved in.

"No," I whispered, my hand flying to my mouth. "No, don't say that."

"I've rewritten this a dozen times. Deleted it. Started over. I don't know how to say the things I need to say, Sophie. I never have. That's always been the problem, hasn't it?"

Tears were already streaming down my face.

"I need you to know something, and I need you to believe it, even though I know I've given you no reason to. I loved you before I ever spoke a word to you. I loved you through every silence you mistook for indifference. I loved you the day you signed our contract, and I loved you the day you signed our divorce, and I will love you in whatever comes after this."

"I didn't know," I choked out. "I didn't know, Adrian. I swear I didn't know."

"I know what you think of me. I let you think it, because it was safer than the truth. The truth is there are people inside my own company who want me gone. Who have wanted it for over a year. I don't know exactly who yet. I have suspicions, but no proof. Not enough to move on."

"Whitmore," I whispered. "It's Whitmore, isn't it. You just didn't have proof."

"I let you go because I couldn't protect you and love you openly at the same time. Not with them watching. Not with what they're capable of. I told myself it was the right choice. Most days I still believe that. Some nights I don't."

His voice cracked, just slightly.

"You should have told me," I whispered. "I would have stayed. I would have fought with you."

"There's a security drive in the box with the letters. Everything I've found so far. Names. Transactions. It isn't enough to convict anyone, but it's a place to start. Whitfield can help you if you decide to pursue it. I'd understand if you don't. You've given enough to this family. You don't owe me anything else."

"I don't care what I owe you," I said, my voice rising through the tears.

"But if you do decide to look — be careful. These aren't people who play fair. The people coming after me won't stop there. They'll come for you next, if they think you know anything."

I froze, a cold dread settling over the grief, my mind flashing instantly to a gray suit standing across the street from Whitfield's office.

They already have. They already found me.

"I'm sorry. For all of it. For every year I let you believe you were unwanted, when the truth was I wanted you so much it terrified me. I don't expect forgiveness. I just needed you to finally hear the truth, even if I'm not there to say it to your face."

A long silence.

Then, quietly, almost too quiet to hear:

"I love you, Sophie Bennett. I always have."

The recording ended.

I sat frozen on my apartment floor, the device silent in my trembling hands, tears streaming down my face without a single sound escaping me.

"I love you too," I whispered into the empty apartment. "I love you too, and I never even told you. Not once. Not in three years."

And now the same people who killed you already know my name.

I don't know how long I sat there. Long enough for the light outside to shift from gray afternoon to deepening dusk.

Everything made sense now.

The distance. The silence. The divorce that came too easily.

He hadn't stopped loving me.

He'd loved me so much he was willing to let me hate him, if it meant keeping me alive.

And it hadn't been enough.

I wiped my face and reached for the box again, digging through the remaining letters until I found the USB drive taped inside the lid.

I held it in my palm, my resolve hardening even as fresh tears fell.

Names. Transactions. A place to start.

Whitmore as good as told me to my face today that he isn't afraid of what I know. That means either he thinks I don't have enough — or he doesn't plan on giving me time to find more.

I thought about Whitfield's warning. About the man in the gray suit.

They'll come for you next.

I should have been afraid.

I was afraid — but something colder and steadier had settled underneath the fear, something that felt almost like purpose.

"I owe you more than grief," I said quietly, standing up, wiping my face one last time. "I owe you the truth. And I'm not going to let them bury it with you."

I plugged the drive into my laptop, my hands steadier now.

The files loaded slowly. Folder after folder. Financial statements. Transfer records. Names I didn't recognize yet, but knew I would.

A knock sounded at my apartment door.

I froze completely, every muscle locking at once.

I didn't order anything. I'm not expecting anyone. Whitfield would have called first.

The knock came again. Slow. Deliberate.

I stood in the middle of my living room, laptop open behind me, USB drive still glowing faintly in the dark, and stared at the door like it might tell me who was on the other side if I just waited long enough.

It didn't.

A third knock.

Softer this time.

Almost patient.

Like whoever was standing there already knew I wasn't going anywhere — and had all the time in the world to wait me out.