Chapter 31
Lena's POV
Silence stretched between us for several seconds.
"Will a check work?" Rowan asked suddenly.
I froze. "What?"
"I said, will a check work?" He pulled a checkbook from his pocket, walked to the coffee table, and opened it. "Would seven million be enough?"
"Rowan—"
"To buy back Marcus's shares." He didn't look at me, pen moving across the check with crisp strokes. "I heard he's negotiating with investors, planning to cash out. If Vivian can use this to purchase the shares first, it'll at least stabilize things temporarily."
My heart clenched hard.
"Why would you do this?"
"Because our families are still allied through marriage." He tore off the check and held it out to me. "If Nexus Investment tanks, it reflects poorly on Reynolds Industries. This is just a business decision."
Just a business decision.
I stared at the check.
"She already left."
"Then give it to her." He placed it on the coffee table. "Tomorrow's fine too."
I didn't move.
"You don't have to do this. You have no obligation—"
"It's only seven million." He cut me off, tone as casual as discussing the weather. "Pocket change for Reynolds Industries. Besides, I can't take it back now."
I looked up at him.
He stood there, shirt sleeves rolled to his forearms, the vintage watch on his wrist catching the light. Expression detached, but his gaze held something I couldn't quite name.
"If it bothers you," he said, mouth quirking into a half-smile, "you could always consider paying me back in other ways."
I went still.
His gaze traveled down my face, lingering on my neck, then my collar. That look—familiar, laden with suggestion—made my pulse spike.
"What—"
"You know what I mean." He leaned in, one hand braced on the armrest, face close to mine. "After all, our contract hasn't expired yet. Has it, Lena?"
His breath ghosted across my cheek.
My throat tightened.
"Are you drunk?"
"Stone-cold sober." He straightened, the smile deepening. "Think about it."
Then he turned and headed upstairs.
I stood there, watching his back disappear.
My face was burning.
Bastard.
I grabbed my briefcase and fled to the guest room.
---
The next morning, Rachel was already waiting outside my office when I arrived at Madison & Partners.
Her face was chalk-white.
"Lena, we have a problem."
I unlocked the door and gestured her inside. "What happened?"
"It's the Whitmore case." She followed me in, words tumbling out in a rush. "The client called. They said there's an error in the merger agreement we submitted. Their board refused to sign. Now they're demanding accountability."
I set down my briefcase and turned to face her.
"What kind of error?"
"Clause Seven. The equity distribution percentage." She handed me a document. "We wrote forty-five percent, but the client requested fifty-five. Now they're saying our mistake delayed negotiations and they want compensation."
I took the document and scanned it quickly.
Clause Seven. Equity distribution: 45%.
That's wrong.
I distinctly remembered the final version was 55%. I'd changed it myself.
"Who was responsible for the final submission?"
"Brett and I." Rachel bit her lip. "We both reviewed the final draft together, then I uploaded it to the client's system."
"Are you certain you uploaded the final version?"
"I—" She hesitated. "I thought so. But now it seems..."
She trailed off, but I understood.
Someone tampered with the file.
"Does Richard know?"
"He wants you in his office." Rachel's voice dropped even lower. "Now."
---
Richard's office sat at the end of the hallway.
I knocked, heard his low "Come in," and pushed through the door.
He sat behind his desk, gold-rimmed glasses perched on his nose, holding a document—the flawed merger agreement.
"Lena." He looked up, removing his glasses. "Sit."
I took the chair across from him, hands folded in my lap.
"Whitmore's general counsel called me." He pushed the document to the center of the desk. "They're very displeased."
"I understand." I kept my voice level. "This was my oversight. I'll contact the client to apologize and submit a corrected version as soon as possible—"
"This isn't just about an apology." He interrupted. "Whitmore is a major client. This kind of amateur mistake, if word gets out, damages the entire firm's reputation."
"I'll handle it."
"You'd better." He replaced his glasses, then paused. "I've already asked Brett to come in. I want to hear his side."
A few minutes later, Brett entered the office.
He was a lawyer in his early thirties, brown hair, usually quick with a smile. But today, that smile looked strained.
"Richard." He nodded, then glanced at me. "Lena."
"Brett, sit." Richard indicated the chair beside me. "Regarding the document error in the Whitmore case—how do you explain it?"
Brett cleared his throat.
"Rachel and I reviewed the final draft together. I verified all the clauses, including Clause Seven. At the time, it definitely said fifty-five percent."
"Then why does the submitted version say forty-five?"
"I'm not sure." His gaze flickered. "Maybe... when she uploaded it, Rachel used the wrong file version?"
I turned to look at him.
He avoided my eyes.
"Are you certain?" Richard asked.
"I..." Brett hesitated. "All I can say is, the version I reviewed was correct. As for the upload process after that, Rachel handled it."
The air went quiet for several beats.
"All right." Richard closed the file. "Lena, talk to Rachel. Get to the bottom of what went wrong. You'll take full responsibility for this case going forward. I don't want any more mistakes."
"Understood."
"Also," he paused, "the Reynolds Industries project—until you've resolved the Whitmore situation, Nora will take over."
My fingers tightened against my knees.
"Take over?"
"She has more bandwidth right now." Richard's tone brooked no argument. "And Rowan's side agreed."
Rowan agreed.
The words landed like a slap.
I drew a slow breath.
"Fine."
"That's all." Richard waved us off. "Get back to work."
---
Brett and I left the office together.
The hallway was quiet except for the distant hum of a printer.
"Brett." I stopped, turning to face him. "Was what you said in there true?"
He blinked. "What do you mean?"
"The part about Rachel. Do you really think she uploaded the wrong file version?"
"I..." He scratched his head, smile awkward. "Lena, I'm not trying to throw Rachel under the bus. I'm just saying the version I reviewed was clean."
"So you think the problem's on her end."
"I didn't say—"
"That's exactly what you implied." I held his gaze. "Brett, if there's something I don't know about, tell me now."
His expression shifted.
"There isn't," he said quickly. "Really. I'm just... telling it like it is."
I studied him.
He looked away, fingers twitching in his pocket.
"All right," I said. "Get back to work."
"Sure thing." He practically fled.
I stood in the hallway, watching his retreat.
He's lying.
And the way he lied—nervous, evasive, desperate to escape—didn't fit someone calling the shots.
He was a pawn. Someone was pulling his strings.
The pieces were already falling into place in my mind.
Someone's behind this.