EXPOSURE

POV — Catriona

The discrepancy is small.

So small most people would miss it.

A timestamp.

Two minutes.

That’s all.

I’m in Shawn’s office alone, reviewing internal distribution logs for the acquisition brief — the revised one. The controlled-risk version. The one only five executives were authorized to see.

The board memo was scheduled for 10:00 a.m.

It hit an external financial blog at 9:58.

Two minutes early.

Two minutes before official release.

That shouldn’t be possible.

Unless someone sent it.

I don’t react immediately. I don’t assume.

I verify.

Access logs.

D******d records.

Forward history.

One anomaly.

The file was opened at 9:41 from an executive terminal.

But the assistant assigned to that terminal was in a compliance meeting across the building.

I check attendance logs.

Confirmed.

So either:

A) She lied.

Or

B) Someone used her credentials.

Neither option is comforting.

The hum of the office feels louder in the silence. The city outside the glass walls glows faintly, but inside, the air feels sharper, like the moment before a blade is drawn.

I hear the office door open behind me.

“You’re in my chair.”

His voice is calm.

I don’t turn immediately.

“Only temporarily.”

I finish scanning the log before looking at him.

“You have a leak.”

That gets his attention.

He closes the door. Slowly.

“Explain.”

I stand and hand him the tablet.

“The acquisition memo was accessed and forwarded before official release. Two minutes early.”

“Two minutes is irrelevant.”

“Not when it hits the press.”

His gaze sharpens.

He reviews the timestamps without speaking.

Silence stretches — not disbelief. Assessment.

“Who has access?” he asks.

“You. Legal director. CFO. Two senior strategists.”

“And me,” he adds.

“Yes.”

His eyes lift to mine.

“And you.”

There it is. The test.

I hold his gaze evenly.

“I didn’t have clearance at 9:41.”

“You have proximity.”

“I don’t have executive override.”

A pause.

He studies my face like he’s reading a contract clause for hidden language.

“How do I know you’re not positioning this discovery to build trust?” he asks quietly.

The question isn’t loud. It’s surgical.

“You don’t,” I reply.

No offense. No defensive tone. Just truth.

His expression doesn’t change.

“Continue.”

“The access terminal belongs to Lila Mendoza.”

“Legal director.”

“Yes.”

“She was in a compliance meeting.”

“I confirmed attendance.”

“And you verified she didn’t leave?”

“I verified her badge never exited the conference floor.”

Which means someone logged in from her office while she was physically elsewhere.

His jaw tightens slightly.

“Pull camera feeds,” he says.

“I already did.”

That earns the smallest flicker of acknowledgment.

“Someone entered her office at 9:38,” I continue. “No forced entry. No hesitation. They knew the space.”

“Who?”

The footage replays in my mind.

“CFO’s deputy.”

Silence. Heavy. Strategic.

“That’s an accusation,” he says evenly.

“It’s data.”

He steps closer, close enough that I can feel the shift in the air.

“Do you understand what happens if you’re wrong?”

“Yes.”

“And if you’re right?”

“Then someone inside your executive circle is destabilizing controlled risk for personal leverage.”

His gaze darkens slightly. Not anger. Calculation.

“Why would they leak it?” he asks.

“To spike share volatility.”

“And?”

“To force emergency board intervention.”

“And?”

I hold his eyes.

“To weaken your position.”

That lands. Not dramatically. Just precisely.

He turns away, looking out at the skyline like he’s rearranging pieces in his head.

“They didn’t leak the entire memo,” he says slowly. “Only the clause fourteen analysis.”

“Yes.”

Which means—

They knew.

They knew that clause fourteen had been intentionally vulnerable in the original draft.

That detail wasn’t in circulation.

Only he and I discussed that.

Which narrows the circle even further.

His voice is quieter now.

“Who else knows I engineered that vulnerability?”

“No one.”

His gaze shifts back to me.

“Think carefully.”

I do.

Boardroom discussion? No.

Email trail? None.

Verbal confirmation? Only here.

“With me,” I say. “You discussed it with me.”

Silence expands between us.

Dangerous territory.

“If I were the leak,” I say calmly, “I wouldn’t be the one flagging it.”

“Overconfidence is common in intelligence manipulation.”

“You believe I’m that reckless?”

“I believe ambition clouds judgment.”

“And you think mine does?”

“I think yours is disciplined.”

There’s something deliberate in that answer.

He’s not dismissing the possibility. He’s narrowing it.

“Then run digital trace,” I say. “Metadata. Device fingerprint. If the file was forwarded, there will be residual packet identification.”

His brow lifts slightly.

“You’re first year.”

“I pay attention.”

A beat.

Then:

“Stay.”

He walks to his desk and initiates a secure call.

No raised voice. No panic. Just quiet authority.

“I need full IT trace on executive server cluster. Priority one. Silent review.”

Pause.

“Yes. Now.”

He ends the call.

“You’ll stay close on this,” he says.

That sentence is different now.

Not mentorship. Containment.

“You think they’ll suspect you?” I ask.

“They already do.”

The admission is casual. Like weather.

“If they’re targeting clause fourteen,” I continue, “they’re not just testing reaction.”

“No.”

“They’re mapping your decision architecture.”

A slow nod.

“Exactly.”

That realization changes the room.

This isn’t sabotage for profit.

It’s reconnaissance.

Someone is studying how he thinks.

And by extension—

How I do.

My phone vibrates.

Internal news alert.

REID CAPITAL FACES SHARE FLUCTUATION AFTER ACQUISITION DISCLOSURE.

Two minutes early caused a measurable market tremor.

Not catastrophic. But noticeable. Intentional.

He steps toward me again.

“You understand what this means.”

“Yes.”

“Say it.”

“It means someone inside the firm believes they can outmaneuver you.”

“And?”

“It means I’m visible now.”

That’s the real shift.

I flagged the leak. I named a suspect. I stood in his office during internal containment.

If someone is watching power lines— They’ll see me standing next to him.

His eyes hold mine.

“Does that concern you?”

“No.”

That surprises him slightly.

“Why?”

“Because proximity to power is dangerous.”

“And?”

“I prefer knowing where danger stands.”

Silence.

Then a faint, almost imperceptible smile.

“Good.”

A knock interrupts us.

His assistant enters, tight expression.

“Sir. The board wants an emergency call in twenty minutes.”

Of course they do.

The tremor reached them.

He nods.

“Prepare conference room.”

She leaves.

He looks at me.

“You’ll attend.”

“That’s not protocol.”

“Neither was your reassignment.”

A pause.

“This will not be a friendly call,” he says.

“I don’t expect it to be.”

“They will look for weakness.”

“I won’t provide any.”

His gaze lingers a fraction longer than necessary.

“See that you don’t.”

As I walk toward the door, he stops me.

“One more thing.”

I turn.

“If you are playing a longer game,” he says quietly, “this is where most people make a mistake.”

“And what mistake is that?”

“They enjoy proximity.”

I meet his eyes without hesitation.

“I don’t enjoy proximity,” I say evenly.

“I leverage it.”

Something shifts in his expression then.

Approval. Respect. Something darker beneath it.

“Good,” he says softly.

Because if there’s a leak inside Reid Capital—

This is no longer internship politics.

It’s strategic war.

And I just stepped onto the battlefield beside him.

Not behind.

Beside.