Chapter 4

Augustine helped me leave the reception.

Once we were alone, I wiped away my tears and handed his jacket back to him. "Thank you for today."

He raised a hand and gently wiped the last tear from the corner of my eye with his thumb. Then he nodded and watched me leave.

The truth was, I'd known Augustine would be there. I'd also kept an eye on Nika all evening. When she tripped me, I deliberately twisted as I fell and grabbed the dessert tablecloth on the way down.

In the car, I saved copies of every video I'd secretly recorded that evening. Then I opened a new message and typed, "Tomorrow at 10:00 a.m. The cafe at 118 Champs Avenue."

When I walked into the cafe at exactly 10:00 a.m., Signe was already waiting for me.

She was just a reporter for a small tabloid.

"Ms. Caldwell, you asked to meet with me today..."

I cut her off. "I told you to call me Elena when we're alone."

She smiled awkwardly and quickly corrected herself.

I had copied every video and photo I'd collected, along with links to every post, onto a USB drive. I slid it across the table.

"I've numbered everything. Don't publish anything before I tell you to. You know the consequences if you do, Signe." I kept my voice calm.

Her face turned serious. She carefully put the drive away. "Understood."

I nodded. "I'll leave the rest to you, then."

The meeting was over in less than five minutes. On my way out, I spotted a familiar car outside the cafe.

Only 10 of that model had ever been made. I'd checked. Augustine was the only person I knew who owned one.

I narrowed my eyes. For the first time, I was genuinely curious about him.

Thinking back, he'd helped me more than once, whether he'd meant to or not. But I'd never figured out why.

Our message history was almost empty, with only a few polite exchanges and an occasional message asking whether I'd eaten.

I waited a few minutes, but no one got out of the car. I didn't dare go over to it.

Maybe I was overthinking it. There could be someone else in the city with the same car.

I decided not to dwell on it. Instead, I got into my own car and drove away.

At three p.m., I arrived at Caldwell News Group.

The senior executives were already waiting for me in the 18th-floor boardroom.

The moment the doors opened and I stepped inside, all the executives rose to their feet. "Ms. Caldwell."

I set my bag beside the chair at the head of the table and took my seat.

Steve, the acting CEO, handed me a file. "Ms. Caldwell, everything I handled while you were away is in this file for your review."

I took it but didn't open it. "I trust your judgment. We have several stories coming up that I intend to handle myself."

The quiet room immediately filled with the rustle of papers and the scratch of pens as everyone hurried to take notes.

As soon as the meeting ended, the executives hurried back to work.

I stood by the railing and looked out across the office below. I'd been gone a long time, but nothing had changed. The final say at Caldwell News Group was still mine.

My laptop chimed.

An email had just come in.

With Westwood Group's reputation in free fall, several more partners were demanding to end their contracts.

Another email below it contained an article about emotional manipulation, ready for my approval.

I replied with one word: "Approved."

My assistant hesitated. "Ms. Caldwell, once this runs, Westwood Group could..."

"Run it." I closed my laptop.

Alistair was probably still scrambling to win back every partnership he had lost.

He had no idea that by tomorrow, losing those partnerships would be the least of his problems.