THE BILLIONAIRE CEO SHOWED UP AT HIS ASSISTANT'S APARTMENT AT MIDNIGHT—THEN REVEALED THE SECRET THAT COULD DESTROY THEM BOTH

I read the message three times.

Then I looked at Cameron, who had fallen silent on my couch.

“Did you know about my mother's death?”

He rubbed his forehead.

“Not until six months ago.”

“Six months?” My voice rose. “You've known something about my mother for six months, and you never told me?”

“I was trying to verify the evidence.”

“You had two years to tell me you knew who I was. You had six months to tell me something about my mother. Instead, you let me organize your meetings, answer your calls, and smile at you every morning like an idiot.”

His expression tightened.

“You're right.”

That answer startled me more than an argument would have.

Cameron Reed never admitted fault. At least, not at work.

He leaned forward, bracing his elbows on his knees.

“My father, Richard Reed, died four years ago. While settling his estate, I discovered a sealed file containing payments to a private investigator, hospital records, and correspondence with a woman named Margaret Carter.”

My mother.

“He hired someone to investigate her?”

“Yes. The records suggested your mother worked briefly for Reed Global's original charitable foundation. She discovered financial irregularities connected to a medical research project. A few weeks later, she was involved in a car accident.”

I felt cold all over.

“I was told a drunk driver hit her.”

“The official report says that. But the investigator's notes suggest the other vehicle disappeared before police arrived.”

“And you didn't think I deserved to know?”

“I thought the evidence was incomplete. I didn't want to destroy your life with an accusation I couldn't prove.”

“You don't get to decide what truth I can handle.”

He lowered his eyes.

“No. I don't.”

For several seconds, the only sound was rain against my windows.

I wanted to hate him. It would have been easier than looking at the exhaustion in his face and wondering whether he had been carrying this alone.

But sympathy was not forgiveness.

“Why hire me?” I asked.

Cameron hesitated.

“Your résumé was submitted through the normal hiring process. I recognized your mother's name during the background review. I could have rejected your application, but I thought keeping you close would help me understand what happened.”

My mouth fell open.

“So I was an investigation?”

“No. You were an employee who deserved a fair opportunity. I never intended to use you.”

“But you did.”

He had no defense.

I stood and walked to the window, trying to breathe.

“My mother raised me alone. She worked two jobs, made birthday cakes from boxed mixes, and kept every school picture I ever brought home. She never told me she was afraid of your family.”

“Perhaps she was trying to protect you.”

I turned.

“Don't turn her suffering into an excuse for your silence.”

He flinched.

Then his phone vibrated.

A name appeared on the screen: Daniel Price — General Counsel.

Cameron answered on speaker.

“Tell me you found something.”

Daniel sounded tense.

“I found the original payment ledger. The transfers were authorized by Richard Reed, but the final beneficiary wasn't the investigator.”

“Who was it?”

A pause.

“Vanessa Whitmore's father. Charles Whitmore.”

Cameron's face changed.

“That isn't possible.”

“It gets worse,” Daniel continued. “The payments stopped shortly after Margaret's accident. And there's a second file, one that Richard specifically ordered to remain sealed.”

“What's in it?”

“I haven't opened it. The archive system registered an unauthorized access attempt ten minutes ago.”

Cameron looked at me.

“Someone knows we're searching.”

My phone buzzed again.

This time, the message contained a photograph of my apartment building.

Someone had taken it from across the street.

Underneath was a single sentence.

YOU HAVE UNTIL MORNING TO STOP ASKING QUESTIONS.

Cameron immediately stood.

“We're leaving.”

I stepped between him and the door.