In His Bed

Chapter 13: What They Know

Aria

The instructions arrived at nine the next morning, while Stan was still on my couch with his laptop open, three cups of coffee deep and running on almost no sleep.

Wire transfer. Account details attached. Forty eight hours from first contact. Failure to comply results in the photo, and everything it implies, going to three specific parties: the Montenegro Holdings board, Whitfield's legal team, and a tabloid contact who's already expressed interest.

"They did their homework," Stan said, reading over my shoulder, jaw tight. "Whitfield's legal team specifically. That's not a random threat. Whoever sent this knows exactly what would do the most damage to the acquisition, not just to us personally."

"Which means they know about the deal." I sat back, rubbing my eyes. "That's not public information yet. That's board level, legal team level."

"Or gala level." Something in Stan's voice went careful. "Half my board was at that gala. So was half of Whitfield's leadership. So was Yvette."

The name sat between us, unspoken weight neither of us wanted to lift yet.

"You don't think, " I started.

"I don't know what to think." He closed the laptop, harder than necessary. "That's the problem. She's the person with the most access to my calendar, my deals, my personal life. She'd know about the acquisition timeline better than almost anyone. But she's also the person who's had six years to do something like this if she wanted to, and never has."

"Until now."

"Until now," he admitted. "If it's her."

We spent the next two hours building a list, the way I built a case file, methodically, ruling things out instead of jumping to conclusions. Gala staff with balcony access. Board members with motive to sabotage the acquisition. Marcus Aldridge, whose name I'd added almost reflexively and then stared at for a long moment before leaving it there.

"He was in Fairview two weeks ago," I said slowly. "Not the gala. But he clearly already knew something was going on with us before the gala photo would have confirmed it."

"Small towns talk. That doesn't mean he sent this."

"No. But he's the kind of person who'd enjoy it if he had the chance."

Stan didn't argue that point.

By noon we had six names on the list and no way to narrow it further without more information than either of us currently had, and the forty eight hour clock was already down to thirty one.

Yvette showed up at Stan's office that afternoon, ostensibly for the Hendricks follow up, and found both of us hunched over Stan's desk with the printed photo and a legal pad full of names between us.

"You two look like you haven't slept," she said, setting down a folder, her tone easy, concerned in the specific unbothered way of someone whose job was managing other people's crises without absorbing any of the panic herself. "Everything okay?"

Stan and I exchanged a look. It was Stan who answered, careful, giving away nothing.

"Just a complicated week."

"Anything I can help with?" Yvette's eyes flicked, briefly, to the photo on the desk before either of us could turn it over, and something crossed her face, too fast to name, gone before I could decide if it was surprise or something else entirely. "I know most of what happens in this building before it officially happens. If something's going on, I'd rather help than find out about it secondhand."

"It's under control," Stan said.

"Doesn't look like it's under control." Yvette's voice stayed gentle, but something underneath it sharpened, precise in a way that reminded me, uncomfortably, of Marcus's careful cruelty at the dinner. "Whatever this is, whoever's behind it, I have resources you don't. Security contacts. People who can trace things quietly, without it becoming a bigger story than it already might be. Let me help."

The offer hung there, generous on its surface, and I watched Stan weigh it, watched him want to say yes to the one person who'd made his professional life run smoothly for six years, and felt something cold and cautious settle in my own chest that I couldn't fully justify yet.

"Let me think about it," Stan said finally.

"Of course." Yvette's smile didn't waver, warm and patient as ever. "Take your time. I just don't want either of you carrying this alone if you don't have to."

She left the folder on his desk and let herself out, and Stan and I sat there in the silence she left behind, the photo still face down between us, both of us thinking the same unspoken thing.

"She offered awfully fast," I said quietly.

"Yeah." Stan's eyes stayed on the closed door. "She did."