Vivian called back within the hour, and by the time she did, Julian had already filled three legal pads with the kind of methodical, controlled fury I imagined had built Sterling Industries in the first place — dates, timelines, a list of names underlined twice.
“It’s Callahan,” Vivian said, her voice tight through the speakerphone. “Desmond Callahan requested the emergency session at four-eleven this afternoon. The photos hit the tabloid’s inbox at four-forty. Twenty-nine minutes, Julian. That’s not a coincidence, that’s a coordinated play.”
“Can we prove it?”
“I already have someone pulling his assistant’s outgoing calls for today. If he used a personal phone to contact the photographer directly, we’ll find it. Desmond’s many things, but careful under pressure was never one of them.”
