The morning after the package was delivered, Eleanor Sinclair stood in her private greenhouse, snipping a rare white orchid with a pair of gold shears. Sunlight filtered through the glass ceiling, casting dappled light across her pale features. Her movements were slow, meticulous. The calm before the storm.
Her assistant, Delia, appeared at the door with an expression that bordered on panic. “Ma’am. You need to see this.”
Eleanor barely glanced up. “Is it about the drive?”
Delia hesitated. “It’s spreading. Slowly, but… strategically. One of the smaller finance blogs just ran a piece on Maddox’s offshore dealings. And the audio is circulating in private investor circles.”
Eleanor placed the orchid into a tall vase, her hands steady. “They’re being clever. Controlled. Making sure I know
