What Rufus knew

Waiting for what, exactly?"

My voice came out harsher than I planned, my throat dried up after the last twenty minutes.

"Was I supposed to wander into a records room and figure this out by accident? You could’ve just called, Rufus. Or shown up at my door, like you did this morning. You had five years and a hundred chances to tell me, but you stood back and watched me find out like this."

"You watched my life fall apart." My cheeks were wet now and I hated it.

"I know." He didn’t bother defending himself. Somehow, that stung even more.

"Sit down. Please. You’re shaking, Eberta—you’re in tears. I can’t stand seeing you cry."

I sat because my legs finally agreed with him, even if the rest of me didn’t.

He dragged a chair over and faced me closely, almost close enough for our knees to touch. I could see the fine lines at the corners of his grey eyes; his eyes captivated me even if I tried to detach, he looked so tired. Unfair how I never noticed before.

God, this was getting complicated.

He reached out and wiped the tears from my face with a soft brush of his fingers.

Whatever front he’d been putting up all day had started to slip. Beneath it, he looked relieved in a way I didn’t understand, like a man exhausted from keeping up a show.

"The trust," he started, voice steady. "Do you have any idea how the Voss family trust works?"

"I just know it’s there. Stephen never got into the specifics. He said it wasn’t my business.”

Something sharp flashed across his face. "It should’ve been your business. It’s the reason your marriage ended, Eberta—not Priscilla,not whatever love story he’s invented. The trust did it."

"Then explain. Slowly. I want every detail."

"Voss Industries’ controlling shares are held in a family trust Stephen’s grandfather set up decades ago. There’s a clause that ties the shares to marriage. As long as Stephen’s married, he controls them. If the marriage ends, the trust takes back control. The board steps in, just like that."

He paused, eyes weighing his next words. "Specifically, whoever’s holding proxy votes in that moment takes over."

I stared. "That’s insane."

"It is and it's real. But it’s also been sitting in a filing cabinet three floors above us longer than either of us has been alive."He rubbed his jaw, suddenly looking like a man who’d been carrying too much for too long.

"Somebody understood exactly what that clause meant, and exactly how to set it off."

"Priscilla."

He rubbed his chiseled jaw."I’m almost certain she wrote the letter. But Priscilla didn’t know trust law five years ago. I’ve known her since she was twenty-three, obsessed with parties and being the center of attention. Someone else gave her the leverage and told her how to use it."

The room felt colder now, or maybe it was just me. "Who?"

"That’s what I’m still chasing." He held my gaze, then my hands. My pulse increased rapidly at his touch, and something raw split wider inside me.

"I’ve been digging for a year, trying to find out who held the proxy when you got divorced. Every request I make either disappears or gets stonewalled before I ever see an answer. Maybe four people here know the clause exists. Even I can’t get the truth."

"So someone inside Voss Industries engineered the end of my marriage and stole my life for a board seat, and I spent five years thinking I just wasn’t enough for Stephen." My voice had gone quiet and flat, the calm before something broke apart.

"Do you have any idea what that did to me, Rufus?"

He looked away, eyes landing on my face again after a second. "I’m sorry it took five years and a carelessly unlocked drawer for you to finally get the truth from someone who actually knew."

The apology landed in my chest. He reached up and brushed my hair back, gentle, and for a second I wanted to lean into him; just to feel warm after so long in the cold—even though I knew that was the kind of mistake that hurt.

"Whose side are you on, Rufus?" I asked the second time in a trembling voice. The answer mattered more than ever.

"Yours. It’s been yours, longer than I should admit."

We both froze. The records room just hummed around us, fluorescent lights buzzing, the folder in my lap still trembling. There was so little space between us. Closing it would’ve been easy.

"Then tell me who held the proxy." I was forcing strength back into my voice. "I need a name, Rufus. Whatever else is going on, I need the truth."

"Not tonight." There was a raw edge to his voice, and he sounded like he was barely holding back. "Not standing in a room that shouldn’t even be unlocked, with....."

He cut off suddenly. His eyes shifted past my shoulder to the doorway, and whatever he was about to say vanished.

I turned, following his gaze. My stomach dropped.

Priscilla leaned in the doorway, as cool and unhurried as if she’d been invited here. She wore her dark hair loose over one shoulder, her lips curved into this infuriating, delighted smile. That made it worse than if she’d come in furious.

"Please," she almost whispered as she stepped forward, moving like it was her own party. "Don’t stop for me. I’ve been waiting five years for a scene this entertaining."

She looked between Rufus and me—sizing up the small space between us, probably seeing more than I wanted her to. Something flickered in her eyes: amusement, calculation, maybe a flash of something darker.

"You found the letter." Not a question, more like a compliment after a clever chess move in a game she still expected to win. "I’ll admit, Eberta, I never thought you’d actually search for answers. I figured you’d prefer the story where you just weren’t enough. It’s a softer story. Easier to accept than the truth."

"Get out," Rufus said, low and steady. He stepped in front of me without hesitating.

Priscilla’s smile grew, and she took her time. "Rufus Cross, trying so hard to be the knight in a records room. How sweet." Her gaze slid past him to me, dark and sharp, and her amusement dropped away for just a second. Something colder took its place.

"You have no idea what you’ve set loose tonight, sweetheart. But you’re going to. And by the time you understand, you’ll wish you’d never opened that drawer."

She turned, paused just long enough in the doorway ; composed and dangerous in a way that made the hair on my arms prickle.

"Sleep well," she said quietly. "While you still can...