Chapter 8 - THE KNIGHT IN TRENCH COAT
Ivan panicked, dropping his arm from my shoulders and stumbling backward. He looked wildly between David and me, realizing that every move he made was trapping him deeper in a spiderweb of his own making.
“This is entrapment! You set me up!” Ivan screamed, pointing a trembling finger at David.
“I was just grabbing a late-night macchiato and happened to notice a desperate man harassing a brilliant CEO,” David replied with a calm, sarcastic grin, lowering his camera. He stepped smoothly between Ivan and me, offering me a steadying hand. “You okay, Elena?”
I took his hand, stepping away from the brick wall and smoothing down my blazer. “I’m fine, David. In fact, I’ve never been better.”
Ivan let out a guttural sound of pure frustration, turned on his heel, and sprinted down the dark alleyway into the night, disappearing like the coward he always was.
David watched him go, then turned to me with a warm, empathetic smile. “You know, for someone running a multi-million-dollar corporate restructuring, you sure attract a lot of aggressive wildlife.”
“It’s an occupational hazard,” I replied, a genuine laugh escaping my lips for the first time in years. “Thank you, David. How did you happen to be right outside my loft?”
“Marcus mentioned you liked getting late-night coffee from this specific district,” David admitted, rubbing the back of his neck with a hint of bashfulness. “I figured a newly minted CEO shouldn’t walk alone downtown—especially with an unhinged ex-husband roaming the streets.”
We walked together back toward my loft under the glow of the streetlights. For the first time, conversation flowed effortlessy. David wasn’t like Ivan; he listened when I spoke, laughed at my dry humor, and didn't treat my intelligence as a threat.
When we reached my building entrance, David handed me a secure flash drive. “By the way... while looking into Ivan’s offshore accounts, my investigative team found something else. Proof that he tried to frame you for corporate tax fraud two years ago to cover his own tracks.”
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I took the drive, my fingers brushing his. “Ivan was planning this safety net for years.”
“Well,” David smiled softly, his eyes locking onto mine in the warm lobby light. “His net just became his prison. Sleep well, Madame CEO. Tomorrow is the big corporate rebranding press conference.”
