Through the one-way glass, the scene was a perfectly composed tableau of betrayal. Julian, his face a thundercloud of confusion and authority, stood in the doorway. Chloe, ramrod straight and radiating the cold fury of a violated balance sheet, had her gaze locked on Elena. Kincaid, Marcus’s man, remained seated, a statue of detached professionalism amidst the chaos. And at the center of it all was Elena, frozen with the silver drive in one hand and the incriminating portfolio in the other, her mask of composure finally, irrevocably shattered.
For a heartbeat, no one spoke. The air was thick with unspoken questions, the silence a vacuum waiting for a lie to fill it.
Elena, true to form, was the first to move. She was a cornered viper, and she chose to strike.
"Julian, thank God you're h
