The Chief Thought Maya Was Finished Until His Own Department Turned on 

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

I walked to the scattered papers and found another copy.

I placed it in front of him.

“Then read the signature page.”

He didn’t touch it.

Samuel did.

He scanned the names.

Then he looked at Howard.

“Your signature is here.”

Howard’s face drained.

The room changed.

Until then, Blake had been the center of everything. His divorce demand. His mistress. His violence. His humiliation when Samuel exposed my identity and ownership.

But Blake had not built this by himself.

That was the first truth the broken briefcase had exposed.

The second was sitting at the table with us.

Howard stood.

“This meeting is over.”

“No,” I said. “Your part in it is just becoming clear.”

He looked toward Samuel.

“You’re going to let her do this?”

Samuel didn’t answer for me.

I appreciated that.

Howard pointed at the document.

“That agreement is completely legal.”

“I didn’t say it wasn’t.”

“Then what exactly are you accusing me of?”

“Nothing.”

That stopped him.

I continued.

“I’m asking why you signed an agreement giving another shareholder influence over how you would vote on specific corporate matters.”

Howard’s eyes flicked toward the other directors.

I had my answer.

He was afraid of them knowing more than he was afraid of me.

“Who is the other shareholder?” one director asked.

I turned the document around.

“Blake.”

The room erupted.

Howard immediately started talking over everyone.

“It isn’t what you’re making it sound like.”

I waited.

Samuel waited.

Eventually everyone else stopped.

Howard’s breathing was heavy.

I pointed to the agreement.

“Then explain it.”

He looked at the page.

Then at the doors.

Then at Blake’s mistress.

That look lasted less than a second.

But she reacted.

“Don’t look at me.”

Howard stared at her.

“I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were.”

Samuel’s gaze sharpened.

I suddenly understood.

The mistress hadn’t simply been trying to grab my briefcase because Blake wanted my shares.

She knew something was inside it.

“Why did you try to take my briefcase?” I asked.

She folded her arms.

“Blake told me to.”

“Why?”

“Ask him.”

“I am asking you.”

“He said it contained documents you stole.”

“From whom?”

She said nothing.

“From the company?”

Silence.

“From Martin Keller?”

Her jaw tightened.

Howard whispered something under his breath.

Samuel heard him.

“What did you say?”

Howard shook his head.

“Nothing.”

The boardroom phone rang again.

Nobody moved.

The secretary answered.

Security.

This time, the guard sounded less composed.

“Ms. Reed, Mr. Blake has left the executive level.”

“With Keller?”

“No. Mr. Keller is still here.”

“Where is Blake?”

“He used the service elevator.”

“Did he have anything with him?”

“A blue folder.”

My stomach tightened.

“Where did he go?”

“We’re checking.”

I looked at Samuel.

He understood before I spoke.

The folder wasn’t evidence I needed to control the company.

It was evidence Blake needed to control the people who had helped him.

“Find Martin Keller,” I told security. “Don’t detain him. Tell him the board is requesting his presence.”

The secretary ended the call.

Howard headed for the door.

Samuel spoke quietly.

“If you leave now, Howard, the minutes will reflect exactly when you left.”

Howard stopped with his hand on the handle.

That sentence did what shouting never could.

He returned to his chair.

Ten minutes later, Martin Keller entered.

He was in his sixties, silver-haired, immaculate, carrying a leather portfolio. He looked around the room and immediately saw the scattered documents, the broken briefcase, Howard’s expression, and Samuel standing beside me.

His confidence disappeared in stages.

“Samuel.”

“Martin.”

“I understand there’s been some confusion.”

“No,” I said. “I think we’re finally removing it.”

Martin looked at me.

He had met me before.

Many times.

At company dinners.

At holiday receptions.

Once at Blake’s birthday, where he had asked me whether I enjoyed “being away from the serious side of the business.”

He had never known who my grandfather was.

Or perhaps he had never bothered to find out.

“Nora,” he said carefully.

“Who hired you to draft Howard’s voting agreement?”

Howard snapped, “Don’t answer that.”

Martin looked at him.

That was mistake number one.

Samuel noticed.

“Interesting,” he said.

Martin put his portfolio on the table.

“I advise several shareholders in individual capacities. I can’t discuss privileged matters.”

“Then don’t,” I said. “Discuss company matters.”

“I’d need to know what you’re asking.”

“Did company resources pay for work related to these agreements?”

Martin paused.

Mistake number two.

The corporate secretary began typing.

Martin noticed the sound.

“I’d have to review billing records.”

“Good,” I said. “We’ll preserve those too.”

His face hardened.

“This is becoming unnecessarily hostile.”

I looked at my broken briefcase.

“Is it?”

Nobody spoke.

Then Blake’s mistress suddenly reached for her phone.

Samuel said, “Put it down.”

She ignored him.