Morning light filtered through the blinds, grey and unforgiving. As Cassidy walked into the breakfast nook, her phone vibrated on the granite counter. A text from Julian Ashford. Heard the news. Tell me this is some kind of joke. We need to talk. Before she could process it, Kingsley entered the room, his eyes immediately locking onto the illuminated screen.
He plucked the phone from the counter. His expression hardened as he read the message. He tossed the phone back without a word.
A moment later, Mercer was there, a new document on the table.
Kingsley was drinking black coffee, dressed in a three-piece suit that looked like armor. He didn't say good morning.
"Amendment to the service agreement," Mercer said, sliding the paper toward her. "Per Mr. Osborn's immediate request."
Cassidy read the legal jargon. The cost of the watch repair was astronomical. Then she saw the red text at the bottom.
Clause 108: The Party of the Second Part (Cassidy Steele) is strictly prohibited from any private, public, or digital contact with Julian Ashford.
Cassidy's head snapped up. "Julian?"
Kingsley set his cup down. The china clinked sharply against the saucer. "Is there a problem?"
"Julian is a client. He's a friend. He has nothing to do with this."
"He's a competitor," Kingsley said, his voice dropping an octave. "And I know about the plane ticket, Cassidy."
The air left the room.
"The ticket?" Cassidy frowned. "Six years ago? I bought a ticket to Zurich because my father needed a specialist. Julian just happened to be on the flight."
Kingsley's lip curled. "Coincidence? You expect me to believe you didn't run off with him? That you didn't sell him the algorithm?"
"I didn't!" Cassidy felt the old frustration clawing at her throat. "I was trying to save my dad! You wouldn't listen then, and you won't listen now."
"You're right. I won't." Kingsley pointed at the paper. "Sign it. Or get out."
Cassidy looked at him. She saw the wall behind his eyes. He had built an entire narrative of her betrayal, and Julian Ashford was the villain in his story. If she fought this, she lost everything.
She picked up the pen and slashed her signature across the line. The tip tore through the paper.
"Happy?" she asked, her voice trembling.
Kingsley took the paper. He looked satisfied, almost triumphant. "Ecstatic."
He stood up and left for the city without looking back.
Ten minutes later, Cassidy's phone, still on the table, lit up again.
Incoming Call: Julian Ashford.
She stared at the screen. Her thumb hovered over the green button. Julian was kind. Julian listened. Julian would help her.
But Julian couldn't save her father from the Feds.
She pressed the red button.
She looked up and saw a maid dusting a vase, watching her reflection in the glass. Spying.
She deleted the text message thread.
She opened her laptop and pulled up the Osborn Group's shareholder files. If she was going to be a prisoner, she would be a useful one. She started digging into the financials.
Buried in a sub-folder, mislabeled as 'Archived Catering Invoices,' she found something odd. A series of shell companies buying up stock in a rival tech firm. The transaction logs were protected by a simple cipher she only recognized from a case two years ago. It was sloppy, almost intentionally so. Was this incompetence? Or was it a test?
Kingsley was planning a hostile takeover. A massive one. And he was overleveraged.
If this leaked, he was ruined.
Cassidy stared at the screen. She held the gun that could kill him. But strangely, she didn't want to pull the trigger. She wanted to help him aim.
