The First Knife

POV: Audrey

The kitchen lights stay on for hours while Roman and two men from the Vipers security team question me at the kitchen table, and I sit there with my hands folded in my lap, answering every question they throw at me because I have nothing to hide.

"Mrs Hayes, the security log shows your specific login credentials were used to export the playbook at eight-fifteen tonight, so we need to know who else knew your password," the head of security says, leaning forward and staring at me like I am already guilty.

"Nobody else knew my password, because I keep it in my head, but my computer stays docked in the performance lab during the day, and anyone on the coaching staff could walk into that room," I reply, keeping my voice steady while I look right at Roman to see if he is even listening to me.

"Were you in the building at eight-fifteen tonight, Audrey?" Roman asks, his voice sounding completely cold as he sits at the end of the table with his arms crossed over his chest.

"I told you already, Roman, I left the arena at seven after finishing the rehab schedules, and I drove straight back to this penthouse, so I was right here when the file was sent," I say, shaking my head as the frustration builds up inside my chest.

"That is interesting, because I happened to be at the main facility late on Tuesday, and I saw Audrey walking out of the restricted archive hallway near the server room," Vivian chimes in from the doorway, her voice dripping with fake hesitation as she steps closer to the table.

"You were not even supposed to be in that building on Tuesday, Vivian, so what were you doing there?" I snap, turning my head quickly to look at her with pure anger.

"I was there reviewing sponsor contracts with the executive team, Audrey, which is part of my job, unlike your unauthorized little walks down the restricted corridors," Vivian fires back, turning to Roman with a worried expression on her face.

"Is that true, Audrey, were you down by the server room on Tuesday night?" Roman asks, his eyes narrowing as he waits for my answer.

"I go to the archive hallway every single day because my performance lab is right down that same corridor, so seeing me there means nothing," I say, raising my voice because this whole setup is making me crazy.

"It means a lot when combined with what the Chicago team just sent over to our legal counsel ten minutes ago," Vivian says, pulling her phone from her pocket and laying it flat on the table between us.

"What are you talking about, Vivian?" Roman asks, glancing down at the screen before looking back at me.

"They sent a screenshot of an email exchange from an address matching Audrey's personal account, and she was negotiating a consulting deal with their general manager three weeks ago," Vivian says, tapping the screen to show him the fabricated messages.

"I never sent any email to Chicago, and those messages are completely fake!" I yell, standing up from my chair so fast the wood scrapes loudly against the floor.

"Sit down, Audrey, and explain why a rival organization has screenshots of your email address discussing our team data," Roman demands, his face hardening into stone as he looks up at me.

"You actually believe them over me?" I ask, my voice cracking as the hurt hits me harder than any accusation ever could.

"I believe what is in front of me, so tell me the truth, because were you planning to leave me when our contract ended?" Roman asks, dropping the question that hurts more than the investigation itself.

"You want to know if I wanted to leave you? Yes, during the first few months of this marriage when you treated me like a prisoner, I wanted out, and I thought about walking away the second our agreement expired," I admit, letting the tears spill over my lashes as I look down at him, refusing to lie about the past.

"There it is," Vivian whispers, shaking her head like she won the prize.

"Shut up, Vivian!" I scream, before turning back to Roman, who is staring at me like a complete stranger, so I take a deep breath and tell him the rest because I have nothing left to hide. "Yes, I wanted to leave back then, but then everything changed, Roman, because I stopped hating you, and I stayed because I fell in love with you."

The kitchen goes dead silent, and for one brief second I see pain flash in Roman's dark eyes before his expression closes down completely, leaving nothing behind.

"Love does not prove innocence, Audrey, and right now I need answers, not confessions," Roman says, standing up from the chair and walking out of the room without looking at me again, leaving the security team to pack up their tablets and follow him down the hall.

The next morning, the nightmare gets worse the second I walk into the Vipers training facility, because security guards are waiting by the lobby doors, and everyone from the coaching staff to the players stops to stare as I walk past the front desk.

"Mrs Hayes, management has instructed us to suspend your access effective immediately, so we need your badge and your laptop," the head of security says loudly in front of half the staff, holding out his hand while people whisper behind my back.

"You cannot do this, I am the lead performance director here!" I say, my face burning with humiliation as I hand over my ID badge and my computer bag while the whispers get louder.

"Step aside, please, because the police are here to speak with you regarding the data breach," the guard says, pointing toward two officers walking through the glass doors toward the lobby.

The officers ask me questions right there in the open hallway about the leaked files and the server access logs, and even though they let me go home because there is no formal arrest warrant yet, the threat of criminal charges hangs over my head like a loaded gun.

When I finally get back into my car and pull out of the parking lot, my phone buzzes in the cup holder with an anonymous text message, and I pick it up to check the screen with shaking hands.

YOU THINK VIVIAN IS YOUR ONLY PROBLEM?

I tap the notification to open the attached image file, and my breath catches in my throat because it is a photograph of me walking into a restricted Vipers facility, and the timestamp in the corner says I was there at 2:13 a.m. three nights ago.

I stare at the screen in absolute horror because I know for a fact I was asleep in Roman's bed at that exact minute, which means someone didn't just hack my computer or frame my login, because someone went to the trouble of manufacturing fake photographic evidence to make sure I spend the next few years of my life in a prison cell.