Chapter 13: The Traitor
Vivienne
It takes ten days to find the leak.
Ten days of back-and-forth with Callum's security team. Ten days of checking camera footage, cross-referencing access logs, tracing the photograph to the firm that processed the prints.
It's Callum who calls me with the answer.
"It's Audra," he says.
I close my eyes. "Of course it is."
"She's been feeding information to Marcus Webb."
Marcus Webb. One of Callum's former board members. Ousted two years ago after a hostile takeover attempt. Bitter. Connected. Dangerous enough to be patient.
"How long?" I ask.
"Since before you came back," Callum says. "He's been positioning."
"For what?"
"To force a selloff," he replies. "To weaken my position enough that shareholders panic. Then buy in low."
"My acquisition blocked that."
"Exactly," he says. "Which is why you're the target now."
I lean back in my chair.
"She gave him photos to destabilize me," I say. "Publicly."
"And to force me to react emotionally," Callum adds. "Which I did."
He doesn't say sorry.
But I hear it.
"What do we do?" I ask.
"Cut her off," he says. "I already changed all access codes. She's been removed from the property."
"And Webb?"
"I'm meeting with him tomorrow."
"No," I say.
Pause.
"What?"
"I'm meeting with him," I say. "This is my company too."
Another pause.
"Together," he says finally.
"Together," I agree.
The meeting happens the next day. Top floor. Neutral location.
Webb is a small man with sharp eyes and too much cologne. He smiles when we walk in side by side—Callum and me—like he expected this. Like he wanted it.
"The happy couple," he says.
Neither of us responds.
"I have a proposal," Webb continues.
"No," I say.
He blinks. "You haven't heard it."
"I don't need to," I reply. "You threatened my family. You used a bitter ex-girlfriend to spy on my life. You photographed me without consent."
I lean forward.
"Here's what happens next," I say. "You walk away. Permanently. From this company, from his, from anything that has my name attached to it."
"Or what?" he asks, smiling.
I slide a folder across the table.
"Or I file these," I say.
He opens it. Reads.
The smile disappears.
"Those are sealed—"
"Were sealed," I correct. "Your previous financial disclosures. The ones you thought were buried in the bankruptcy filing."
His face goes white.
"You can't use those."
"I already have copies with three different regulatory agencies," I say. "Pending my authorization."
Silence falls heavy as stone.
Callum says nothing. He just watches me. And when I glance over, I catch the faintest curve of his mouth.
Not a smile.
Pride.
Webb stands. Slowly.
"This isn't over," he says.
"It is," Callum replies. "Unless you want her to finish you."
Webb looks between us—then leaves without another word.
The door shuts.
I exhale.
Callum turns to me. "Where did you get those documents?"
I shrug. "I told you. I kept everything."
He stares at me.
"You're terrifying," he says.
"Thank you."
For the first time in five years, he laughs.
And so do I.
It takes ten days to find the leak.
Ten days of back-and-forth with Callum's security team. Ten days of checking camera footage, cross-referencing access logs, tracing the photograph to the firm that processed the prints.
It's Callum who calls me with the answer.
"It's Audra," he says.
I close my eyes. "Of course it is."
"She's been feeding information to Marcus Webb."
Marcus Webb. One of Callum's former board members. Ousted two years ago after a hostile takeover attempt. Bitter. Connected. Dangerous enough to be patient.
"How long?" I ask.
"Since before you came back," Callum says. "He's been positioning."
"For what?"
"To force a selloff," he replies. "To weaken my position enough that shareholders panic. Then buy in low."
"My acquisition blocked that."
"Exactly," he says. "Which is why you're the target now."
I lean back in my chair.
"She gave him photos to destabilize me," I say. "Publicly."
"And to force me to react emotionally," Callum adds. "Which I did."
He doesn't say sorry.
But I hear it.
"What do we do?" I ask.
"Cut her off," he says. "I already changed all access codes. She's been removed from the property."
"And Webb?"
"I'm meeting with him tomorrow."
"No," I say.
Pause.
"What?"
"I'm meeting with him," I say. "This is my company too."
Another pause.
"Together," he says finally.
"Together," I agree.
The meeting happens the next day. Top floor. Neutral location.
Webb is a small man with sharp eyes and too much cologne. He smiles when we walk in side by side—Callum and me—like he expected this. Like he wanted it.
"The happy couple," he says.
Neither of us responds.
"I have a proposal," Webb continues.
"No," I say.
He blinks. "You haven't heard it."
"I don't need to," I reply. "You threatened my family. You used a bitter ex-girlfriend to spy on my life. You photographed me without consent."
I lean forward.
"Here's what happens next," I say. "You walk away. Permanently. From this company, from his, from anything that has my name attached to it."
"Or what?" he asks, smiling.
I slide a folder across the table.
"Or I file these," I say.
He opens it. Reads.
The smile disappears.
"Those are sealed—"
"Were sealed," I correct. "Your previous financial disclosures. The ones you thought were buried in the bankruptcy filing."
His face goes white.
"You can't use those."
"I already have copies with three different regulatory agencies," I say. "Pending my authorization."
Silence falls heavy as stone.
Callum says nothing. He just watches me. And when I glance over, I catch the faintest curve of his mouth.
Not a smile.
Pride.
Webb stands. Slowly.
"This isn't over," he says.
"It is," Callum replies. "Unless you want her to finish you."
Webb looks between us—then leaves without another word.
The door shuts.
I exhale.
Callum turns to me. "Where did you get those documents?"
I shrug. "I told you. I kept everything."
He stares at me.
"You're terrifying," he says.
"Thank you."
For the first time in five years, he laughs.
And so do I.