Chapter 6: The Terms

Clara didn't offer him coffee.

Damian sat in the same low chair as before, the one that made him feel like a supplicant. Clara sat behind her desk, Mira beside her, a legal pad in hand. Two lawyers stood by the window, silent.

"Terms," Clara said. "First: everything you know about Marcus. Every dealing, every meeting, every rumor. You give it to me. No holding back."

"Agreed."

"Second: you don't make a move against Marcus without telling me first. No revenge schemes. No heroics. You run nothing past me, you run it past no one."

"That's a lot of trust for someone who doesn't trust me."

"It's not trust. It's control." She slid a document across the desk. "Third: you sign this."

He picked it up. Read it. His jaw tightened.

"This is a confession."

"It's a statement of facts. You admit to the affair. You admit to the miscarriage cover-up—your mother's involvement, your negligence. You admit that you concealed assets during the marriage."

"You want me to sign away everything."

"I want you to sign a document that protects me if this alliance falls apart. You're not the only one who needs leverage."

He stared at the paper. His mother's name. The hospital. The payment she had made to keep it quiet. Clara had documented all of it.

"She did this without my knowledge," he said.

"I know. It's in the document. Your mother acted alone. But you benefited from her silence, and you'll sign that you knew nothing until after the divorce." Clara folded her hands. "Sign it, and we work together. Refuse, and I'll take everything anyway. The only difference is whether you have a seat at the table."

Damian picked up the pen. Signed. Slid it back.

"Done. What now?"

"Now we take Marcus down." Clara stood and walked to the window. "He's been working against you for years. He planted Elena. He's been buying up your suppliers. But he's not the only one with leverage."

"What do you mean?"

"Marcus has a partner. Someone inside your company. Someone who's been feeding him information since before Elena."

Damian's blood ran cold. "Who?"

"We don't know yet. But the wire transfers to Elena came from a shell company. That shell company has a second client. Your company."

Damian stood. "That's impossible. I know every one of my executives—"

"You know them the way you knew me." Clara turned. "You see what you want to see."

The words landed like a slap. He didn't argue.

"Find them," he said. "Whoever it is, I want to know."

"So do I. But we do it my way." Clara walked to the door. "Mira will send you the files. Review them tonight. Tomorrow, you come back here, and we start building a case against Marcus. And Damian?"

"Yes?"

"Don't tell anyone. Not your assistant. Not your board. Not a single person you trust. Whoever this is, they've been close to you for years. They'll know if you're lying."

Damian nodded. "Understood."

He walked to the door. Paused.

"Clara. About what you said. About seeing what you want to see." He turned. "I see you now."

Clara didn't answer. But for just a moment, her gaze flickered.

Then it was gone.

That night, Damian didn't sleep. He read the files Mira sent him. Financial records. Shell companies. Three years of Marcus's dealings, laid out like a map.

And in the middle of it all, a name he recognized.

He stared at the screen. His hands went cold.

It couldn't be. It couldn't possibly be.

But the documents didn't lie.

He picked up his phone. Called Clara.

"Clara. I found him."

"Who?"

Damian closed his eyes. "Peter. My assistant."

Silence. Then, quietly: "You're sure?"

"He's been on Marcus's payroll for four years. He's the one who took the message about the hospital. He's the one who told Marcus about the gala. He's been feeding him everything."

Clara was quiet for a long moment. "Can you prove it?"

"I have the transfers. The emails. Everything."

"Then we use it." Her voice was hard. "But not yet. We need to know how deep this goes. If Peter's been working for Marcus for four years, he knows everything about your company. He knows your security protocols. He knows your habits."

"He knows everything about me."

"Then we can't move until we're ready. One mistake, and Marcus will know we're coming."

"What do we do?"

"Tomorrow. My office. We plan." She paused. "And Damian? Bring everything. Every file. Every record. This ends now."

He hung up and sat in the dark. His assistant. The man who had brought him coffee every morning for four years. The man who had taken the hospital message and never passed it on.

The man who had let Clara sit alone in a hospital room, waiting for a husband who never came.

Damian's hands shook. Not with fear.

With rage.