Chương 11
"Not necessarily this exact version."
"Then someone had access."
Marcus did not answer.
He did not need to.
I looked toward the dark window.
My reflection floated over the city lights.
Wet hair.
Hospital gown.
Bruise beginning to darken along my shoulder.
For once I did not look like the magazine version of myself.
I looked tired.
And frightened.
And pregnant.
"Who knew about Zephyr?"
Marcus's eyes shifted to mine.
"Elena."
"Owen."
"Yes."
"Your cyber team?"
"They knew we were preparing a protective operation, not the equipment."
"Luis?"
"Transportation only."
"Federal agents?"
"Need-to-know."
"Who else?"
"Three engineers modified the vest."
"Names."
"Victoria."
"Names."
He gave them to me.
I recognized all three.
One had worked at Calder for six years.
Another had brought his twins to the company picnic.
The third had once cried in my office after his father died because he was embarrassed to ask for bereavement leave.
I hated the way suspicion contaminated ordinary memories.
"Stop."
Marcus waited.
"I don't want a list of everyone I could distrust."
"Then don't build one."
"We need one."
"We need evidence."
I looked at him sharply.
He pulled a chair closer.
"This is exactly how people destroy themselves after something like tonight."
"Something like being pushed out of a helicopter?"
"Something like finding out the threat was closer than they believed."
His voice stayed calm.
"You start assuming every strange look was betrayal and every missed email was sabotage."
"And sometimes it was."
"Sometimes."
He tapped the forged amendment.
"But not every problem becomes part of the same conspiracy because we're scared."
I looked away.
He was right again.
It irritated me more this time.
My phone vibrated on the table.
An unknown number.
Marcus reached for it.
I got there first.
"Don't answer."
"Why?"
"Because nobody outside a very small circle should know this number is active."
I turned the screen toward him.
The call stopped.
A message arrived.
I read it once.
Then again.
I handed him the phone.
The message contained six words.
YOU SHOULD HAVE SIGNED THE ORIGINAL.
Marcus stared at the screen.
He did not touch anything.
"Do not reply."
"I wasn't going to."
"Screenshot is not enough."
"I know."
He took a photograph of the screen using his own device.
"Airplane mode."
I switched it on.
"Who has the number?"
"Family, board chair, executive assistant, security, Dr. Alvarez."
"Jonathan?"
"Of course."
"His phone is in evidence."
I looked at the message again.
"Could he have scheduled it?"
"Possible."
"Could Bell?"
"Possible."
"You're going to say evidence now, aren't you?"
"Evidence."
I handed him the phone.
"Trace it."
He stepped toward the door.
"Marcus."
He stopped.
"If this is bigger than Jonathan, I need to know before the board hears anything."
"They already know you survived."
"That is not what I said."
He turned back.
"The board is being told there was an incident and you're hospitalized."
"No mention of the trust?"
"No."
"No mention of forgery?"
"No."
"Good."
"That secrecy won't hold long."
"I don't need long."
"What do you need?"
I looked at the forged document.
"A clean room."
He frowned.
"Not literally."
"I know what you mean."
"No board devices."
"No company laptops."
"No personal assistants."
"No staff who touched my documents in the last year."
"That's a lot of exclusion."
"I want five people maximum."
"Who?"
"You, me, outside counsel, one forensic accountant, one federal liaison."
Marcus considered it.
"You're excluding Elena."
"Yes."
"Owen."
"Yes."
"Your executive team."
"Yes."
"Your general counsel."
I hesitated.
That one hurt.
Caroline DeWitt had been with Calder almost from the beginning.
She had defended me through regulatory fights, procurement disputes, patent wars, and one spectacularly stupid lawsuit involving a former supplier and a drone prototype.
She was also one of perhaps ten people who could access high-resolution versions of my current signature.
"Temporarily."
Marcus nodded.
The lack of argument made the decision feel worse.
"We start with the trust administrator."
"Quietly."
"Of course."
"And Bell."
"Federal agents will handle him."
"No warning."
"None."
He reached for the door again.
Another contraction tightened low across my abdomen.
I froze.
Marcus saw it.
"How bad?"
I waited.
The pressure built.
Then eased.
"Not bad."
He checked his watch.
"Time?"
"Four minutes since the last one."
"I thought there were only two."
"There were."
"You weren't timing."
"No."
"Call Alvarez."
"Victoria."
"Call her."
He pressed the nurse button.
I hated needing help almost as much as I hated being afraid.
Dr. Alvarez returned with two nurses and none of them looked panicked, which helped.
They repositioned the monitors.
They checked my blood pressure.
They asked questions I had already answered.
The baby's heartbeat stayed steady.
My cervix had not changed.
By twelve thirty, the contractions had begun spacing out again.
Dr. Alvarez finally sat on the edge of the visitor chair.
"This is your body telling you it had a terrible day."
"I noticed."
"Stress, trauma, dehydration, impact."
She lifted one shoulder.
"Any of those can irritate the uterus."
"Can I sleep?"
"I would consider that a major medical breakthrough."
Marcus stood near the door holding the phone with the anonymous message.
I looked at him.
He gave the smallest shake of his head.
No trace yet.
Dr. Alvarez followed my gaze.
"Is somebody still trying to ruin your night?"
"Apparently."
She stood.
"Then they can do it tomorrow."
After she left, Marcus lowered the lights.
I expected him to go.
He did not.
He sat by the window with his laptop closed on his knees.
"You don't have to stay."
"I know."
"You have work."
"I have people."
"You hate delegating."
"So do you."
I smiled despite myself.
For the next twenty minutes, neither of us spoke.
The hospital corridor carried ordinary sounds through the door.
A cart squeaked.
Someone laughed too loudly at the nurses' station.
A child cried somewhere farther down the hall.
May you like
My daughter shifted once beneath the monitor straps and settled.
I watched Marcus fold a coffee receipt into smaller and smaller squares without looking at it.
