Chapter 13

Rain still drizzled over the harbour yard as we clustered around Caelum’s phone, the board chair’s message glowing bright against the grey evening: We have received new anonymous files. Not from Elias. Someone else has been watching all along.

Ms. Hale pulled out her short‑range radio, quietly instructing the security team to secure the warehouse perimeter and check for hidden cameras or leftover transmitters. Diana kept one protective hand on Rowan’s shoulder, her earlier sharp‑edged composure fully gone; she looked exhausted, like a weight she’d carried ten years had shifted rather than lifted.

“Who else could be watching?” I whispered. “Elias was supposed to be the hidden mastermind.”

Caelum’s jaw tightened as he tapped the secure link sent by the chair. A password‑protected portal opened, holding three video recordings, a scanned witness statement, and a short note: Elias was only one piece. The real cover‑up reached higher than he knew.

He entered the temporary access code the board had included. The first video played: dash‑cam footage from the night of the fatal highway crash, recorded from a car parked well off the road. We watched Caelum’s father’s vehicle travelling steadily, then suddenly veer sharply after its brakes failed. Two figures stood in the treeline — a younger Diana and teenage Rowan — but a third, unfamiliar person also lingered nearby, slipping away before the emergency responders arrived.

“That’s not Elias,” Rowan said hoarsely, leaning closer to the screen. “I never saw that person before that night. I was too scared to mention them.”

Diana’s breath hitched. “I thought Elias acted alone. I never knew there was a third on‑site.”

The second file was an audio clip: a muffled conversation from months before the crash, between a senior‑ranked Vance‑Industries board member and an unknown voice, discussing how to remove Caelum’s father to stop his planned internal anti‑corruption investigation.

“Father was going to expose embezzlement?” Caelum murmured, stunned. “He never told me that.”

Ms. Hale’s eyes widened. “I knew he was gathering confidential financial records, but he only said it was routine compliance. He kept the full scope hidden even from me, to keep me safe.”

My own phone buzzed — no anonymous number this time; it was a name I’d not expected: Soren. I hesitated before answering, stepping a short distance away from the group.

“Zara,” my ex‑fiancé said, his tone strangely calm. “I know you think everything’s tied up with Elias falling from that roof. It’s not. I was contacted months ago by a board insider who wanted someone close to you to keep tabs on what you’d uncover once you met Caelum.”

My stomach turned cold. “You’ve been reporting on me?”

“Not for money,” Soren replied, sounding weary. “That insider told me your stepsister was in danger if I refused. I went along with it… until recently. I’m sending you a file now — proof of who that senior board member is.”

A new attachment pinged through. I rejoined the others, holding out my phone. The photo showed board chair Arthur Gideon — the very person who’d messaged Caelum minutes earlier — meeting privately with the unknown third person from the highway treeline footage.

“He sent us the files?” Caelum said, frowning. “Why reveal his own involvement?”

“Because Elias is dead,” Ms. Hale reasoned. “Gideon planned to let Elias take all blame. But he grew nervous when we started uncovering old evidence, so he sent partial materials to steer us toward Elias while hiding his own deeper role.”

We piled into two vehicles to head back toward the penthouse, planning to cross‑reference every old company record Ms. Hale could retrieve. Inside the car Caelum and I shared, silence stretched between us. Once or twice his hand drifted near mine; each time he pulled back quickly, remembering their slow‑closeness promise, though longing was clear in his grey eyes.

Back in the penthouse study, we spread documents across the large oak desk: crash‑scene photos, board‑meeting transcripts, Soren’s new evidence, Hale’s old protected notes from Caelum’s father. Slowly the pattern emerged: Gideon had been siphoning millions from overseas project budgets for years. When Caelum’s father discovered the trail and prepared to present it to regulators, Gideon conspired to sabotage his car — and persuaded Elias to act as a visible, disposable fall‑guy later.

Just as we marked the final connection on our timeline, the building’s fire‑alarm system suddenly blared. Red emergency lights flickered through the hallway. Caelum stood sharply. “False alarm or diversion?”

Ms. Hale’s radio crackled: “Ma’am, sir — emergency exit doors on floor 39 have been manually opened. Someone’s inside the building.”

Before anyone could move, a secure incoming call popped up on the study’s main screen — Arthur Gideon himself, his face tight and unsmiling.

“You’ve followed the trail too far,” he said flatly over the speaker. “I didn’t survive ten years of corporate power‑plays to be undone by a hastily‑arranged marriage and old road‑accident files. Come to the board‑room on the top floor right now. Alone. If both of you arrive… certain private records about your family, Zara, will be released publicly.”

My heart lurched. What hidden history of mine had Gideon dug up? And had he already positioned people inside the tower to stop us before we could bring proof to the authorities?