The air in Ethan’s office still carried the tension from the call with the IT.
I stood near the window, tablet in hand, reviewing the preliminary trace report IT had just forwarded. An executive-level override from Davenport, what could be going on? What does he stand to gain by sabotaging my presentation?
I know it’s not full evidence, but yet, it is disconcerting to face annoying roadblocks like this.
I looked at Ethan, who stood opposite the desk, jacket discarded, sleeves rolled halfway up his forearms, a rare c***k in his usual precision. He looked angry in a controlled way. I had never seen him like that before.
“If Davenport moved against you,” he said, voice level, “it means he believes I won’t retaliate.”
“Or,” I replied, scanning the timestamps again, “he believes you can’t.
