Chapter 4
“Don’t touch the purse.”
Rebecca’s voice was calm.
Brooke froze.
“This is insane.”
“Then you won’t mind waiting for security.”
“You have no right to search my things.”
“She’s correct,” Rebecca said.
Brooke looked relieved.
Then Rebecca added,
“But you also don’t have to remain here.”
Brooke grabbed the purse.
“I’m leaving.”
I stepped aside.
“Go.”
Her expression changed.
She had expected me to stop her.
I didn’t.
Rebecca watched carefully.
The moment Brooke reached the hallway, two detectives entered through the ballroom doors.
Not hotel security.
Police.
Brooke stopped.
Detective Aaron Mills introduced himself.
“We’d like to ask you some questions regarding Mercer Development.”
“I need a lawyer.”
“That’s your right.”
She clutched the purse against her body.
Detective Mills noticed.
So did Rebecca.
No one touched it.
Brooke walked out with the detectives voluntarily.
As she passed me, she whispered,
“You could stop this.”
I looked at her.
“No.”
Her eyes filled.
Then she was gone.
Rebecca waited until the doors closed.
“Who texted you?”
I showed her.
Unknown number.
“Check Brooke’s purse.”
“The drive Chad wants.”
Rebecca frowned.
“Forward those to me.”
I did.
Then she said something I had not expected.
“We need to assume someone inside our organization knew about tonight.”
“Why?”
“Because Daniel knew you were attending.”
“Public guest list.”
“He knew you still had authority to freeze funding.”
I understood.
Only a limited group knew I had retained full executive powers during recovery.
Publicly, people assumed an interim committee controlled decisions.
Internally, I had never surrendered final authority.
“If Chad knew…”
“Someone told him.”
“Victor.”
“Possibly.”
Possibly.
That word bothered me.
Victor Lang had worked beside my father for twenty-seven years.
I had trusted him.
But Daniel’s records suggested Victor approved fraudulent payments.
Maybe he was the leak.
Maybe someone else was.
The ballroom had mostly emptied by then.
The gala was effectively ruined.
I didn’t care.
Isabella was stacking glasses.
Her supervisor had stopped bothering her.
I walked toward her.
She noticed my expression.
“Bad?”
“Complicated.”
“That sounds worse than bad.”
I smiled faintly.
She looked toward the doors where Brooke had disappeared.
“Is she in trouble?”
“Maybe.”
“You sound unhappy about that.”
That caught me.
“Should I be happy?”
“She was cruel to you.”
“That doesn’t mean I want her destroyed.”
Isabella considered that.
“You’re different from most people here.”
“Why?”
“Everyone else seems excited when somebody falls.”
I looked around.
She was right.
Several guests remained near the lobby pretending not to watch.
Phones in hand.
Gossip already moving.
People loved public collapse.
Especially wealthy people watching other wealthy people.
“Are you finished working?”
“In twenty minutes.”
“I owe you dinner.”
She laughed.
“For giving you water?”
“For being the only person in this room who spoke to me before I stood up.”
Her smile faded slightly.
“I didn’t do it for dinner.”
“I know.”
That was why I wanted to thank her.
She hesitated.
“I’ll have coffee.”
“Coffee?”
“Dinner sounds like a date.”
“And coffee doesn’t?”
“No.”
“Interesting logic.”
She almost smiled.
“Take it or leave it.”
“I’ll take it.”
She pointed toward my cane.
“You should sit down.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re leaning.”
I looked down.
She was right.
Pain had started climbing through my hip.
I hated admitting weakness.
She seemed to notice that too.
“Using the chair doesn’t erase the fact that you stood.”
I stared at her.
That simple sentence hit harder than she knew.
For months, I had treated every step like a battle against failure.
If I used the wheelchair, some part of me believed I had lost.
Doctors said recovery wasn’t linear.
I heard them.
I just hadn’t accepted it.
I sat.
Isabella nodded.
“Better.”
“Yes, doctor.”
“Very funny.”
Twenty minutes later, she changed out of her uniform.
Jeans.
Simple sweater.
No makeup except what remained from work.
We went to a twenty-four-hour café across the street.
Nobody recognized me.
That felt good.
She ordered tea instead of coffee.
“You lied.”
“What?”
“You said coffee.”
“I changed my mind.”
“Dangerous trait.”
She smiled.
For ten minutes, we discussed nothing important.
Food.
Bad hotel music.
Her college classes.
She studied nursing part-time.
Worked nights to pay tuition.
Her mother had kidney disease.
That was why she lived at home.
“Do you sleep?”
“Sometimes on Tuesdays.”
I laughed.
Then she asked,
“What are you going to do about Brooke?”
“I don’t know.”
“That’s honest.”
“What would you do?”
“She hurt you.”
“Yes.”
“Did she break the law?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then those are separate problems.”
I stared at her.
“Explain.”
“She can be a terrible girlfriend without being a criminal.”
I leaned back.
“That’s surprisingly wise.”
“My mother says anger makes people combine things that shouldn’t be combined.”
She stirred her tea.
“If Brooke broke your heart, that’s between you and her.”
“And if she helped Chad steal?”
“Then that belongs to the police.”
Exactly.
She had separated justice from revenge in one sentence.
My phone rang.
Rebecca.
I answered.
“What happened?”
“Police obtained consent to inspect Brooke’s purse.”
I sat straighter.
“And?”
“There was a flash drive.”
Isabella saw my face change.
“What’s on it?”
“We don’t know yet.”
Then Rebecca continued.
“Brooke claims Chad gave it to her tonight and told her to keep it safe.”
“Why?”
“She says he told her it contained personal photographs.”
I looked toward the café window.
“Do you believe her?”
“I believe evidence.”
Good answer.
“When will we know?”
“Soon.”
I ended the call.
Isabella didn’t ask for details.
Again, that mattered.
Most people would have.
Instead she said,
“You look exhausted.”
“I am.”
“Go home.”
“I don’t want to.”
“Why?”
Because home had been too quiet since the accident.
Because physical therapy happened there.
Because Brooke’s abandoned clothes had once still hung in the closet.
Because my father’s study remained untouched.
Because silence gave memories room to speak.
“I don’t know.”
She studied me.
“You don’t have to tell me.”
That kindness almost broke something open.
My phone buzzed again.
Rebecca sent one sentence.
Call me now.
I stood too quickly.
Pain shot through my leg.
Isabella grabbed my arm.
“Easy.”
I called.
Rebecca answered immediately.
“The drive contains internal Vance Capital files.”
My stomach dropped.
“What kind?”
“Board communications.”
“How?”
“We’re determining that.”
She paused.
“And Ethan…”
“Yes?”
“There are medical records too.”
I went cold.
“Mine?”
“Yes.”
“From the hospital?”
“Yes.”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“Why would Chad have my medical records?”
Rebecca’s voice became quieter.
“Because somebody paid for them.”
I looked through the café window at the glittering hotel.
All evening, I had believed Chad wanted to exploit my weakness.
May you like
Now I realized something worse.
Someone had been studying it.
