Fabian Isidore POV
I slammed shut the door to my office, the spring of my anger jangling in my shoulders. The accusation against Maurice—fake as it was—cut deeper than any professional slight. I recognized it immediately: the tone, the placement, the intent. Rex Montague’s handiwork.
Where else could it have come from, except Montague Publication? The bastard wanted leverage, and the easiest target would be the only marginal employee brave enough to stand her ground. That sleazebag had pushed too far.
I didn’t bother gathering a team. My suit pockets carried only my phone and my rage. I stalked down the chrome-lined corridor past open offices, past whispers and sideways glances. The ghosts of every mistake I’d made as CEO flickered in the ceiling reflections—and those reflections seemed
