I wasn’t snooping. Let’s start there. I wasn’t creeping around like some nosy underling waiting to collect gossip crumbs from the rich and poisonous. I was simply walking... at a reasonable, innocent, non-criminal pace... back to the kitchenette because someone, and by someone I mean Camille, had ordered the oat milk again and it tasted like depression. So yes, I was walking, and maybe I paused for an extra second outside the conference room when I heard my name. Maybe I leaned slightly. But I did not snoop. I eavesdropped with dignity.
Her voice was sharp, measured, every syllable buttered in fake concern. I could only catch fragments... the glass door blurred it like a bad signal, but there it was... my name... and then...
“...both brothers...”
A pause.
“Naïve.”
Longer pause.
“Won’
